


Revenge

by Anonymous



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Broken Bones, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, Rape, Sexual Violence, Torture, Violence, Whump, season six, the oomphiest whump you'll get
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-01-30 03:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21421594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Seamus Murphy gets his revenge.
Relationships: Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt, Original Male Character/Kevin Cozner
Comments: 46
Kudos: 210
Collections: anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

Professor Kevin Cozner woke up in darkness. He hurt. A dull, unfamiliar pain was throbbing in the back of his head. Groaning softly, he tried to get his bearings. He was lying on his side on the ground with his arms stuck in an uncomfortable position behind him. A damp, musty smell rose from the floor and he could hear muffled voices somewhere, in another room perhaps. Or outside? Where was he?

Kevin blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the blurry, dark shapes in his limited field of vision. He raised his head off the cold floor and hissed when the small movement caused a spike of pain to pierce his skull. With a grunt, he fell back, smacking the side of his head on the ground. For a couple of thunderous heartbeats, he lay still. As a wave of nausea washed over him, memories of the night before began to resurface. Warm, yellow lamplight. A printout of chapter nine of his manuscript on the desk. Soft footsteps on the carpet, the first whiff of freshly brewed Earl Grey, a strong hand on his shoulder and Raymond’s voice, _Promise me you won’t stay up all night, dear._

Kevin’s breath caught in his throat. Clearly, there was a gap in his memory. He remembered slipping into bed much later than planned, careful not to make any noise, loath to wake his husband who was already fast asleep. He’d curled up on his side, facing Raymond, his right hand seeking his husband’s under the covers. Kevin had fallen asleep like that, touching the man he loved, comforted by his soft, regular breathing, finally allowing himself to forget his encroaching deadline for a few blissful hours.

Then what? He had no idea.

A slow sense of panic was spreading inside him, cold like the ground from which it seemed to rise. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second and focused inwards. Yes, he was in pain, but it wasn’t agony. He could feel his fingers and toes; he could move them. Though his limbs felt stiff and weak, they were otherwise intact. While his wrists were bound by something rigid and sticky, sharp edges biting his skin when he struggled – most likely duct tape –, nothing was impeding the use of his legs. He also wasn’t gagged. Kevin thought about calling out. There were people not too far away. He’d heard them. But he was trying to think like Raymond. If his captors hadn’t bothered to gag him, that probably meant they weren’t worried about his screams attracting any unwanted attention. Which in turn meant that there was nobody within hearing distance who was not involved in whatever this was. And this meant he was in some remote location, God knows where, surrounded by people willing to harm him. So even if he managed to escape, it was likely he would have to cover some distance to find help.

Kevin swallowed against the lump in his throat. He was terrified. However, being terrified was of no use; it only made his situation worse. Raymond had always admonished him to keep a clear head and try to think logically.

_Stop. _

_Breathe. _

_Think, Kevin_.

_Now fight. _

In his mind, Kevin could hear his husband saying those words, the way he’d said them again and again during the self-defense lessons he’d given an at the time quite reluctant Kevin.

***

_“I’m not a fighter, Raymond, you know this.” Kevin glanced down at his attire, his hula hooping shorts, t-shirt and the old pair of squash sneakers he’d declared lucky after eking out a narrow win against the reigning champions while wearing them during their first year at the club. He felt silly standing around in his living room dressed like this opposite his husband, who was sporting his blue tracksuit and eying him quite critically. _

_“Kevin, I understand your distaste for violence, but this is necessary to ensure your safety.”_

_Kevin folded his arms across his chest. “Is it really?” He couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice. Everything about his demeanor was communicating his feelings on the matter and he wished his husband would just take the hint and give up on what was clearly a pointless endeavor._

_But no, Raymond merely continued to look at him. “Yes,” he said in that especially grave tone Kevin knew only too well. There was no room for argument. Silently, he resigned himself to his fate. _

_ “Now,” Raymond continued, “I think we should start with the basics. I want you to punch me in the throat.”_

***

Carefully, Kevin shifted his weight. His arms were half-asleep, every little movement causing the sensation of a thousand pinpricks. Shivering, he managed to roll onto his back, to plant his feet on the ground. Now what? His eyes had grown somewhat used to the dark, enough for him to get a better sense of the room he was in. It was small and empty, no windows. Kevin could just make out the vague outline of a door about two arms’ lengths to his right. Not that he could actually reach for it, with his arms still tied behind his back. He tried to lever himself up, at least onto his knees, but quickly had to stop when the attempt made him feel dizzy and faint. Kevin had a sense that even if he made it onto his feet somehow, he would end up collapsing, possibly injuring himself further in the process.

The gap in his memory, the overall weakness he felt, the way his thoughts crept like molasses through his scattered mind, the fuzzy, sickening taste on his tongue… Kevin wondered if it meant he had been drugged.

Who would do this? No, it wasn’t even a question worth asking. In his lifetime there had only ever been one person who had wanted him dead. But Seamus Murphy was in prison, serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole.

***

_On the night Raymond broke the news to Kevin, they went out to dinner and celebrated with a bottle of champagne. _

_“I think we have reason to be optimistic,” Raymond replied when Kevin asked about the possibility of Murphy trying to harm them from prison. “People in organized crime are like sharks, now that his blood is in the water, no one will come to Murphy’s aid. His operation is sunk. He has no access to his money and therefore he has lost all of his power.”_

_“It’s over then? Truly?” Had he not already been sitting down, Kevin was sure his knees would have given out from the sheer force of the relief he felt. Still, some part of him cautioned not to be too hasty. When he looked into Raymond’s eyes though, he found only certainty and warmth. _

_“Yes, I believe it is,” his husband said, putting Kevin’s worries to rest. Lowering his voice, Raymond continued as he reached across the table to cover Kevin’s hand with his own, “and let us not forget the part you played in taking him down. Had it not been for you, I would not be sitting here right now.”_

_Kevin swallowed and ducked his head. He felt himself blush under his husband’s intense gaze. As much as he enjoyed Raymond’s praise – if he was quite honest, even after all these years, it still made his stomach flutter – they both knew it wasn’t that simple. Kevin had hardly acted like the hero Raymond was making him out to be. “Then let’s also not forget that if it hadn’t been for my insistence to go to the library, they would not have had a chance to abduct you in the first place,” he retorted._

_Raymond raised both eyebrows, the way he always did when he felt challenged. “Well, then let’s also not forget that if I had not made that deal with Murphy, he never would have threatened your life.” _

_Kevin opened his mouth, the reflexive reply already on his lips, Let’s also not forget that you had to make said deal to save two of your colleagues from life in prison._

_Raymond, however, shook his head. He squeezed Kevin’s hand and Kevin, suddenly very aware that they were sliding into their old pattern of being too stubborn and competitive and getting caught in a loop of both of them trying to have the last word on some ultimately trivial matter when the underlying emotional stakes were high, swallowed his answer and met his husband’s eyes. _

_ “Kevin,” Raymond said and Kevin instantly detected the depth of emotion in the subtle difference in tone. It sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. “I love you. In my fear of losing you, I’m afraid I forgot how strong and capable you are. I would like to apologize for that. I should have given you more control of your situation.”_

_“No, Raymond, I owe you an apology. I should have trusted your judgment. The things I said to you in the safehouse, I want you to know that I regret them. Deeply. I never meant any of it.”_

_He’d said this before, of course; it had been one of the first things he had said to his husband in the direct aftermath of the Murphy situation, and yet he still felt guilty about that miserable conversation. He’d regretted the words the very moment they’d come out of his mouth, sitting there on that awful carpet next to Peralta, he’d wished the earth would open up and swallow him._

_“I know,” Raymond said, his thumb stroking the back of Kevin’s hand as he gazed into his eyes, “thank you for continuing to be my husband.”_

_Kevin felt the heat of that touch crawl up his arm. He couldn’t bring himself to break eye-contact, even as he started to worry about the people around them noticing this shamelessly sexual display of affection. “Thank you for continuing to be mine,” he replied, somewhat breathlessly._

_Raymond smiled. He was still stroking Kevin’s hand. It was quite distracting. “Should we decide on dessert?” he asked. How his husband managed to pose such an innocent question while doing what he was doing, his thumb now drawing idle circles on Kevin’s skin, eluded him. It was outrageous and it made Kevin feel rather bold in return._

_“I think I already know exactly what I want for dessert,” he said, his voice low, his eyes darting to Raymond’s lips._

_“Oh? But you haven’t even looked at the me—” Unable to take it any longer, Kevin wrapped his fingers around his husband’s thumb. Raymond blinked. “Oh… I see,” he said. “Waiter? We’d like the check, please.”_

***

Kevin startled out of his daze. The voices had returned, closer this time. He could hear a man talking, then a scraping noise, perhaps the opening of a door. Another voice, also male, interrupted whatever the first one was saying. This one was a little higher and sounded almost hesitant. Kevin guessed number one might be older than number two, but there was no way for him to be sure.

His heart was beating so hard, he thought it might burst out of his ribcage any second. They were coming for him. He could hear their footsteps now, getting louder and louder.

Kevin strained to make out the words they were saying.

“—maybe -- too much.”

“—should—”

“—guess we’ll see.”

A couple more steps, then the two came to a stop. Right in front of the door. Kevin drew in a shaky breath and held it. There was nowhere to hide.

The sound of a key scraping in the lock.

Perhaps if he pretended to be unconscious…? Reminding himself to keep breathing, Kevin curled up on his side and closed his eyes.

There was a click.

The door creaked as it swung open, flooding the room with light. Even through closed eyelids, Kevin felt the sudden brightness. He willed himself to lie very still.

One of the men snorted.

“Hey, Professor! Get up!”

Kevin didn’t flinch.

“You think he’s still…?” The second voice this time, unsure.

Kevin was not a religious man, but he found himself praying. A silent mantra of _please, please, please. Just go away. Go away._

“Nah, he’s just playing dead like the little bitch he is.”

Someone walked inside. Kevin was sure it was the first man; his footsteps were heavier. He stopped right next to Kevin, close enough for Kevin to hear the rustling of his clothes and the sound of his breathing. The moment seemed to stretch into eternity.

Boots scraping on the ground. A pinprick of hope. Had the man turned away after all?

Then an explosion of pain in his stomach as something hit Kevin hard enough to actually lift him off the ground and throw him onto his back. He gasped, his eyes popping open, and in an instant, he was grabbed by the shoulders and hauled up against the wall.

“You think we’re stupid, huh?” The first man shouted; his breath smelled of cigarettes.

Kevin blinked helplessly, momentarily blinded, his eyes watering from the pain.

“Huh?” For emphasis the other man slammed him into the wall once more.

It seemed like he was expected to contribute to the conversation, though why or how was beyond Kevin. He swallowed painfully against the tightness in his throat and ground out, “I… I don’t know you. I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Oh, you don’t, huh?” His captor turned to look over his shoulder at the other man, who was still standing in the open doorway. “You hear that? He doesn’t know anything. He’s all confused.”

_Stay calm._

_Try to deescalate the situation._

_Be aware of your surroundings._

Kevin clung to the rules Raymond had taught him, doing his best to channel his husband, to make him proud. He needed to take in as much as he could, process all the information he could get on the spot and use it to his advantage.

The man who was holding him was probably in his mid-thirties, he sounded and smelled like a heavy smoker, he was muscular and a good two inches taller than Kevin. His dark hair was cropped short; to about the same length as the stubble on his face and neck. He had a scar over his clavicle, a thin, pale line, half an inch in length. Diligently, Kevin committed all of this to memory, as he tried not to stare too obviously at the slight bulge under his open windbreaker. Kevin could see the dark leather strap of a gun holster peeking out. 

He swallowed again, and said, as calmly and reasonably as he could manage, “I would advise you to let me go right now. You have not committed any serious crimes yet, and if you let me leave, I promise you I won’t go to the authorities.” That was a lie, of course, but he had to at least try it.

Number one snorted again, producing a disgusting, phlegmy sound. “Yeah, right. You’ll just go home to your police captain husband and tell him you tripped and bumped into a cabinet or doorknob or something, hm?” He sighed, as if Kevin had disappointed him greatly. “You’re not getting out of this, Kevin. You and your husband have pissed off the wrong guy.”

Kevin’s stomach dropped.

“Seamus Murphy sends his love,” Number two said from the doorway. He indeed looked young, maybe in his twenties or even late teens, clean-shaven, brown hair that fell into his boyish face. From the way he dressed and acted, he could easily pass as a student. Was this how they had gotten to Kevin?

It was easier to focus on those things than on the way the name Seamus Murphy affected him. Kevin did not want to dwell on that at all.

Number one shoved him into the wall to get his attention. When he had it, he cupped Kevin’s face with one hand and looked into his eyes. “Today’s payday, darling,” he said and a cloud of pure terror descended on Kevin, making his mind go completely blank.

***

“Get the camera,” Number one commanded as he pushed Kevin past the younger man. His legs too weak to really carry his weight, Kevin stumbled and crashed to his knees. The pain somehow brought a part of him back to himself. He looked up.

They were in a hallway, semi-dark and abandoned. There were two doors on the right side of the corridor and one on the left, but there was no way to tell which one might lead outside. The second man had vanished in the opposite direction to where Number one was taking Kevin, half-dragging him by his arm, his grip like a vise.

Finally, the man pushed through a door at the end of the hallway and pulled Kevin along by the scruff of his neck.

They were in what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse. Shafts of daylight were streaming in through dirty windows high above the ground. This place wasn’t too different from where he’d had his first encounter with Murphy, Kevin thought. Perhaps they were in the same area. If so, then surely Raymond and his squad would find him soon.

They _would _find him soon, Kevin corrected himself, regardless of where he was.

The place was spacious and empty except for an old table, two plastic chairs and a couple of boxes standing around. Specks of dust danced in the air. Their shoes had left prints in the dirt on the floor, dirt that, Kevin guessed, had taken months, if not years, to accumulate.

He shivered. Were it not for the man holding him up, Kevin was sure he would have collapsed then and there.

“Gonna be showtime in a minute. You nervous, pretty?” Kevin turned his head, aghast. His captor was smiling at him, squeezing his arm painfully. “You’ll get to star in your very own movie, that’s gotta be every gay boy’s dream.” A distant part of him bristled at the way he was being addressed, at the trite homophobic insults that, even after all these years, still hurt. It was better to focus on this instead of the words_ camera_ and _movie_.

Kevin flinched when the younger man suddenly came up from behind him.

“Got it,” he said, holding up a silver digital camera. Then he frowned, wiping nervously at the bangs falling into his eyes. “Now how are we actually gonna do this?”

“All you need to do is keep it rolling. You film the whole thing; we edit the footage later.” Number one turned to Kevin and winked, “Don’t worry, we’re gonna make it look real good for your husband.”

Bile rose in Kevin’s throat.

The boy - and really, that was what he was, merely a boy - stepped in front of them and pointed the camera at Kevin. “We’re on,” he said. Kevin heard a tiny waver in his voice and tried to catch his eye, but the young man hid behind the object in his hands.

Kevin lowered his head. Whatever cruel game they had planned, he refused to take part in it.

Number one shook him. “Anything you want to say to Raymond, hm? Any heartfelt messages?”

Gritting his teeth, Kevin continued to stare at the floor.

“Come on, Kev, this might be your last chance.” Kevin ignored the painful tug on his arm. “Not even an _I love you_?” the other man asked with false incredulity, “That’s cold, man.”

There was nothing he needed to say in front of these men. He loved Raymond more than anything. Raymond knew that. Their love was not something he needed to proclaim dramatically so these criminals could mock it. He was scared of them; he was in pain, but he would not demean what was between him and his husband for their amusement.

Kevin turned his head and looked into the grinning face of his captor.

He drew in a long, shaky breath.

“Fuck. You,” he said.

Kevin could actually see something in the man’s dark eyes harden. He stiffened when Number one stepped around him, putting both hands on Kevin’s shoulders and pushing him until he stumbled and his back hit the wall.

Number one kept moving forward, into Kevin’s personal space. Kevin’s heart was in his throat, pounding frantically. The other man was taller and heavier than him, looming over him, his mouth so close it actually brushed the tip of Kevin’s nose as he leaned in even further. Kevin felt the other man’s hot breath on his skin. It sent a shiver of revulsion up his spine.

“I’m gonna have so much fun with you, babe,” Number one whispered into his ear as he pressed his body against Kevin’s, crushing him into the wall. To his horror, Kevin felt something hard rub against his abdomen when the other man shifted his hips.

“Stop,” Kevin ground out between gritted teeth. His hands scraped across the wall, looking for purchase, for some way to escape or push his assailant away. He couldn’t believe this was happening. His whole body was shaking.

In his desperation, he tried to knee the other man in the groin, to fight back with what little he had, but Number one only snorted derisively before grabbing Kevin by the shoulders and slamming him hard against the wall. Once, then a second time, then he caught Kevin by the front of his jacket and threw him to the ground.

With his hands tied behind his back, Kevin had no way to break his fall. He crashed onto the floor and lay there face-down, winded, pain reverberating through every bone in his body. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the younger man’s dirty sneakers shuffle through his field of vision.

“Come on, Kev, we haven’t even started yet!” With that, he was dragged up again, only to be punched in the gut. He went down instantly, this time to his knees. Kevin doubled over, tears in his eyes, dry heaving, aching to wrap his arms around himself, to protect himself somehow.

Number one hit him again, an open-handed slap across the face that left Kevin’s ears ringing. He was punched, kicked and finally pulled up and dragged over to the table.

When Number one bent him over and pushed his face into the grimy wooden surface, Kevin felt almost relieved for a second. His mouth tasted like copper, like the blood that was pooling under his skin. Everything hurt, his nerves sending distress signals from all over his body, all he could do was to keep breathing in short, panicked gasps.

One hand was planted between his shoulder blades, pushing down just hard enough to hurt, while another slipped around his waist and fumbled with his belt.

Kevin squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath. He had to fight this; he could not let this happen. If this truly was to be his end, if Raymond really was to see this video, then Kevin could not let it be a record of him submitting to this without a fight. He had to be brave, for Raymond if not for himself.

He tried to rear up, simultaneously kicking with his right leg. The other man laughed, not even making any effort to dodge, and ground his hips against Kevin’s bottom.

“Finally, some action!” There was genuine pleasure in Number one’s voice. He bent over, his upper body bearing down on Kevin’s arms and back. Kevin tried to twist away when the other man nuzzled into his neck, his breath hot and damp on Kevin’s skin. “You know what, I’ll help you,” Number one murmured. Kevin, trapped beneath the other man’s weight, stiffened. He could feel the holstered gun pressing into his side.

There was a metallic click. His belt was open, Kevin realized with cold horror. He heard his own breath hitch and bit his lip hard. The man on top of him shifted. One of his hands was tugging Kevin’s shirt out of his pants, the other had let go of him. Kevin heard a noise he couldn’t place, then, suddenly, the pressure on his back lifted and a sharp pain sliced across his hands.

The duct tape had been cut. His arms now free, Kevin immediately tried to push himself up off the table.

“Seriously?!” the young man circled closer with his camera, shoulders tense.

“What?” Number one laughed again. “What’s he gonna do, huh?”

“What’re you gonna do, babe?” he whispered against the nape of Kevin’s neck, putting his full weight on him once more.

Kevin was struggling for purchase on the table. He wanted to push himself up, to get to his feet, he wanted to fight. His arms, however, felt numb and his hands were slippery with blood and stinging where the blade had nicked him.

“Hmmm,” a rumble of pleasure reverberated through the other man’s chest as Kevin strained against the surface beneath him. Number one’s hand was creeping under his shirt, stroking his stomach. Kevin froze, memories of Raymond embracing him from behind forced themselves into his mind. Raymond’s hands sliding down his abdomen, Raymond’s clever fingers undoing his pants. Raymond’s heat soaking into his skin.

_No._

Blindly, Kevin reared up, his elbow connecting with the other man’s face. His assailant howled. The younger man, alarmed, almost dropped his camera, and, for a second, Kevin felt a rush of triumph.

Until he was slammed face-first into the table. There was a sickening crunch, an explosion of pain that drowned out everything else, and when Kevin’s senses returned, blood was pooling beneath him. It continued dripping from his nose as he was pulled up, his jacket was ripped off, his pants and underwear roughly pulled down.

Through the haze of pain and humiliation, Kevin heard the whine of a zipper being lowered. He tried to kick again, desperately, but was merely shoved back down, his exposed genitals connecting painfully with the edge of the table. He lay there, blood sticky on his cheek, panting, helpless.

The irrational part of his brain chose this moment to supply him with scenes from Peralta’s ridiculous action movies, wherein the hero invariably arrived at the very last second to save the day. 

Kevin’s gaze drifted, unfocused. There was the shiny, red blood spreading around him; there was his tie, twisted and crumpled, soaking it up; there was his arm, limp on the table; there was that horrible hand, clamped around his wrist, pinning him down; there was his own left hand, half-moons of dirt under his fingernails, skin caked in a mixture of fresh and dried blood.

There was a strip of pale skin where his wedding band was supposed to be.

_I’ve lost it,_ he thought abstractly, _Raymond will be so upset._

Kevin closed his eyes.

The pain was sudden and brutal. His whole body convulsed, nails scratching at the table, the soles of his shoes scraping across the floor. He grit his teeth but couldn’t keep a small grunt from escaping. The other man snapped his hips, ramming himself inside Kevin with no regard for anything.

His laughter pelted Kevin like sharp pebbles. “Come on, don’t just play dead. Don’t tell me you’re like this with your husband?” He ran a hand down Kevin’s spine, almost lovingly.

“Gotta say, you’re pretty tight for an old guy,” he said, leaning in to sink his teeth into Kevin’s shoulder.

Kevin stared into the blackness of his closed eyelids. He tried not to feel the pain, not to hear the other man’s grunts, the way he kept alluding to Raymond, who had no place in this, who was to be nowhere near this.

More than anything Kevin tried not to hear the obscene slap of flesh on flesh, tried not to think about anything, anything at all.

Tried to push away the erratic memories flitting through his mind.

***

_His father’s face was perfectly crimson. Kevin had never seen him like this before. When he spoke, his voice was low, breathless with rage._

_“And what do you expect me to say to this… this… utterly selfish declaration?”_

_He had talked with Raymond about possible worst-case scenarios, of course, and yet now that it was occurring, Kevin still found himself completely unprepared. This hurt. It hurt physically, somewhere deep inside._

_“I do not expect you to say anything. I merely hoped that, at some point, you might be able to accept—”_

_His father didn’t even let him finish the short speech he had so painstakingly prepared._

_ “Accept?” he interrupted, his face turning even redder, “Accept this? My son being a pervert? In your opinion I am supposed to accept that?”_

_Pervert. Kevin had not prepared for this, though he should have, he saw that now. “Accept me,” he tried, his voice coming out somewhat choked and strained. He cleared his throat, thought about Raymond, who had so patiently listened to his fears, who had encouraged him, who had gone so far as to come with him, here, where he was not wanted, where he was treated like he was less than. “At some point in the future, I hope you will be able to accept me for who I am.” Even as he spoke the words, Kevin realized that he did not mean them any longer. That the empty, aching part of his heart that had been yearning for his parents’ love for as long as he could remember was no more. Now, no part of his heart was empty; it was overflowing with love for Raymond._

_“I will never accept this, Kevin, and neither should you. It is disgusting. It is wrong. Your mother is in hysterics; you have broken her heart. I don’t know what that man has done to you, but you are not welcome in this house until you have rid yourself of him.”_

_Kevin barely heard the words. He knew what Raymond had done to him. He’d loved Kevin patiently, unconditionally, and Kevin could do nothing but love Raymond in return._

***

There was a crunch and then, instantly, pain. Pain like a hot poker piercing his eye, pain overriding the constant throb inside him, all the agony he was in like a Gerhard Richter painting and now this new pain a neon bright flash of color cutting across the whole thing.

Kevin screamed. He did not want to, but the sound wrung itself from his throat before he could bite his tongue. 

“Atta boy,” crooned Number one, his hips moving slowly, rocking the nausea in Kevin’s stomach, “don’t go away, baby. It’s no fun without you.” Gently, he squeezed Kevin’s broken ring finger, sending another shock wave of pain through Kevin’s tortured body.

Kevin swallowed a groan when the other man grabbed his tie with his free hand, wrapping it around his wrist and pulling hard. His head was yanked back. At the same time Number one increased the force and speed of his thrusts. Kevin fought for breath. He couldn’t—

“Yeah,” the other man moaned, “yeah, that’s it. Make sure you get this!”

Kevin’s field of vision bled into a blur. A round, dark smear at the center. A black hole sucking him in. The camera lens, he realized.

_Ray,_ he thought desperately, _forgive me._

***

_When he woke up, Kevin didn’t know where he was. Disoriented, he blinked into the golden sunlight pouring into the room. He drew in a deep breath, his gaze falling on the nightstand, on the car keys lying there, glinting silver. Kevin smiled and reached for them, just to make sure they were real._

_Behind him, the sheets rustled as his boyfriend – his boyfriend! How could Kevin ever have thought the word immature and silly when it carried so much weight now? – began to stir._

_Raymond slipped one arm around his waist and kissed his bare shoulder. _

_“Good morning, Kevin,” he said with his usual, incredibly sexy, gravitas. _

_“Good morning, Raymond.” Kevin turned in the embrace so he could study Raymond’s face. Did it look different now that they were officially more than just dating? Now that they were together and serious – not that either of them had ever been anything but serious._

_Kevin couldn’t say. To him, Raymond looked as breathtakingly handsome as always. He wondered what would change between them now that he had bought the car, driven it all the way into the city and more or less declared his love for Raymond right there in the street in front of Raymond’s apartment building. A thought crossed his mind. “Say, do people ever call you Ray?”_

_Kevin registered the subtle lift of Raymond’s eyebrows. The question had surprised him._

_“My sister does, occasionally. Abbreviate my name to express familiarity and affection, that is,” he said carefully. “Some of my colleagues do as well. In their case the abbreviation serves a… different purpose.”_

_“They disrespect you.” Kevin felt the familiar anger rise in his chest. How could anyone look at Raymond and not see how wonderful he was? _

_Sensing the direction his thoughts were headed, Raymond reached out and cupped his cheek. _

_“Would you like me to call you Kev?” he asked. The sincerity of the question actually gave Kevin pause. He took a moment to think about it._

_“No,” he said finally, “I have always hated the nickname, though I think I could make an exception for you. Because I love you.” Though he’d said it the night before, it still made his heart beat faster to express his feelings so directly. _

_“I love you as well.”_

_Looking into Raymond’s eyes and hearing him say these words made Kevin lightheaded with joy. He’d never thought it was possible to feel this much, this intensely. He thought his heart might burst. _

_Ducking his head in embarrassment because he was blushing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, he slipped under Raymond’s blanket and snuggled in close. _

_“No nicknames then,” Kevin said into Raymond’s neck._

_Raymond brushed a hand through his hair. “I like your name. Kevin. It comes from the old Irish Cóemgein, containing the word cóem, which means kind, gentle and handsome. In my opinion a perfect description of you.”_

_Though not entirely accurate – as Raymond knew perfectly well himself – Kevin was thrilled by the statement. “You looked it up.”_

_“No, I –“ Raymond huffed a laugh at himself. They were beyond posturing now. And from the way his face lit up, Kevin could tell that it was as wonderful and freeing for Raymond as it was for him. “Yes,” he said, “yes I did. Because I want to know everything about you.” _

_This is real, Kevin thought, marveling at himself, at them, at love. _

_In the breathless second it took Kevin to get his bearings, Raymond asked, “Your family does not call you Kev then?”_

_“No,” he replied. And they were the last thing Kevin wanted to think about when he was naked in bed with Raymond. To avoid further questions about uncomfortable topics, he tilted his head up and caught Raymond’s lips in what was supposed to be a quick kiss but instantly turned heated and breathless._

_“I could be your Ray of Sunshine, you know,” Raymond said earnestly as he rolled on top of Kevin, who blinked, then burst into delighted laughter. _

You already are_, he thought, _my ray of sunshine. My ray of hope.


	2. Chapter 2

It was 9:12 a.m. when the telephone on Captain Raymond Holt’s desk rang. As was his habit – especially now that he was running his precinct in open defiance of Commissioner John Kelly – Raymond glanced at the caller ID on the small black and white display before picking up. _Columbia University._

_Kevin?_ he thought, pleasantly surprised. It was rare for his husband to call him at work, even rarer to call from the phone in his office. Normally, Kevin would use his cellphone instead – which was more appropriate for a private call – but perhaps he had forgotten it at home this morning. Quite possible, since, whenever the deadline for a book loomed, Kevin became what Raymond liked to call adorably scatterbrained. Today, Kevin had left very early, as he had planned to do more editing before classes.

Just then a brilliant idea struck Raymond. He felt his lips twitch into the briefest of smiles. _I thought you were hard at work on your book_, he would tell his husband, _but now it seems you are merely **phoning **it in._

Raymond picked up the phone and, expecting his husband on the other end of the line, said with more warmth than was strictly appropriate for the workplace, “99th precinct, Captain Raymond Holt speaking.” A certain giddy excitement filled him; he couldn’t wait to hear Kevin’s reaction to his upcoming quip.

“Hi, this is Naiya Singh? From Columbia University?” Raymond blinked, startled by the female voice and the manner of speaking, both decidedly not Kevin’s. Also, was she asking him for confirmation of her own identity?

He did not recognize the voice; however he did remember Kevin mentioning a Miss Singh, the new, slightly in over her head department secretary. He shifted in his chair, a sudden sense of unease looming.

“Yes, Good Morning,” he said, making sure to speak in a calm, clear voice, “are you calling on behalf of my husband, Professor Kevin Cozner?”

“Oh! So this is the right number, thank God! I apologize! I’m calling because I can’t seem to find Professor Cozner!”

Raymond stiffened. “You can’t find my husband?” he repeated and, already dreading the answer to his next question, asked, “He is not currently in his office?”

“No. He was supposed to meet Dr. Torai there at half past eight. His door was open, but he wasn’t in, so she waited outside. He never came back. We have looked for him everywhere in the department building, to no avail. When we tried calling his cellphone, the call went straight to voicemail. Dr. Torai was very concerned. This is not like Professor Cozner at all.”

His aching hand alerted Raymond to the fact that he was gripping the phone receiver too tightly. He loosened his grip.

“I see. I agree, this is not like him. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“You haven’t heard from him? I was hoping you would know something.”

“My husband left our home at 6:30 a.m. this morning; I have not spoken to him since. However, I will look into this and once I have located him, I will ask him to contact the department immediately.” Eager to end the call in order to get to the bottom of the matter, Raymond thanked her a second time and hung up.

A heartbeat later he was on his private cellphone, calling first Kevin’s cell, then their home number. Both times he ended up leaving the same voicemail: “Dear Kevin, this is your husband Raymond Holt, please call my cellphone as soon as you get this message. I am very worried about you.” Then he recited his cellphone number. He also sent Kevin a text message containing the same information. In the application he saw that his message had been sent but not received. 

Raymond closed his eyes. His gut was telling him that something was wrong, that something had happened to Kevin.

He was not a superstitious person; he did not believe in signs and omens like his sister Debbie did. He did believe in his instincts though, in the way his body reacted to a crime scene, how an innocuous object could draw his gaze, revealing itself as the murder weapon. Raymond Holt had good instincts; he had honed them over decades.

He got up abruptly, grabbed his coat and stalked out of his office into the bullpen, past a snoring Scully and Hitchcock, to Sergeant Jeffords’ desk. “Sergeant, I am leaving you in charge. I have… a personal matter to attend to.”

With that he turned toward the elevator, ignoring Terry’s confused “Sir?” and the way the ever-present, productivity draining chatter all but died.

“Did Captain Holt just say…?” he heard Boyle whisper.

“A personal matter?!”

Cringing at the familiar voice, Raymond increased the pace of his steps.

The two seconds he had to wait for the elevator doors to open foiled his escape. Peralta caught up to him just as the doors were closing. “Captain,” he yelled, trying to slither elegantly through the shrinking gap and of course ending up getting pummeled by the doors. “Ouch!”

Nevertheless, Peralta made it inside. Pointedly, Raymond kept his eyes trained forward, ignoring the detective next to him.

“Sir, where are you going? A personal matter?! What’s going on?” Peralta leaned in closer. “Wait… your nostrils are doing that thing! You’re… freaking out!”

Raymond closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to lower his blood pressure by sheer force of will.

“I assure you, I’m not ʻfreakingʼ ʻoutʼ,” he said. He was lying. He was freaking out. Big time, as people with no regard for the English language said. He was afraid for Kevin, so much so that he could not hide the physical signs of his distress any longer.

Raymond’s plan had been to handle this situation alone as he had not yet determined whether it was a private matter or… something else.

A case.

It was foolish to shy away from the possibility. Raymond drew in another breath. He trusted Detective Peralta; he trusted his squad and if it came to that, he was glad to have them by his side. He made a decision.

“However,” he said, “I have just received a call from Columbia University, informing me that my husband, Professor Kevin Cozner, appears to be _missing_.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Kevin’s missing? Oh no! My best friend Kev?!”

“No,” Raymond said firmly, “I am talking about _my husband_ _Kevin Cozner_.”

“Yeah, we’re talking about the same guy. Your husband, who is also my best friend – _don’t tell Charles_.” When Raymond did not dignify his tomfoolery with a response, Jake sobered. “And Kevin will confirm that when we find him. Which we will. Real soon. When was the last time anyone saw him?”

The elevator dinged. They stepped out side by side.

Raymond relayed the facts he had.

“When he left for work at 6:30. It should have taken him about 15 to 20 minutes to get to Columbia from our home. According to the internet, there were no accidents or other disturbances on his route this morning. He was going to work on his book and then meet a visiting professor for breakfast at 8:30. The professor waited for him for 42 minutes before she had the department secretary contact me.”

“Okay. Are we sure he even went to his office, though?”

Raymond had asked himself the same question. From what he had been told, it seemed like no one in the department had actually seen Kevin. Which would make him the last person to see his husband alive and well. Raymond pushed the thought away.

“According to the department secretary, the door to his office was open the entire time. She seemed surprised by this fact, which means she did not unlock it, which in turn means that Kevin must have done so, as they are the only two people who have a key to his office.”

“So, he unlocked his door at around seven, then, ninety minutes later, he was nowhere to be found.”

“Yes. As of now he has been missing for,” Raymond glanced at his watch, and swallowed the dread clawing at his throat. “141 minutes and 32 seconds.”

Perking up, Jake held the door open for him.

“That’s not that long! He’s probably just gone to the bathroom! Did they check the stalls?”

As he walked outside, Raymond shot Jake a pointed look, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. He was not in the mood to appreciate the detective’s obvious efforts to make him feel better. All he wanted was to find his husband as quickly as possible. 

When Jake caught up to him and they got into Raymond’s car, he was apologetic, though not ready to give up on his attempts to lighten the mood.

“Okay, so maybe working with Hitchcock and Scully for all these years has seriously skewed my perception of how many minutes per day the average person spends on the toilet… still, he might have just gone out to the library or something and lost track of time,” he tried.

“No,” Raymond replied. He had considered similar possibilities as they were far less painful than their alternatives, but he could not fool himself. “Kevin would not have left his office unlocked if he had stepped out. He would not have forgotten an engagement with a colleague, and if he had been indisposed, he would have cancelled. My husband takes such things very seriously, Peralta.”

“Yeah,” Jake sighed, “he’s super anal. Sorry.”

For a couple of minutes there were only the sounds of traffic and the low hum of the engine as Raymond steered the car away from the precinct. Jake slumped in the passenger seat next to him, watching him in what he probably considered a subtle manner. 

After a while, Peralta piped up again, more subdued and choosing his words carefully this time, “Look, Captain, I know what you’re thinking, but we got Murphy. I successfully titted your tat. He’s behind bars. You said it yourself; he can’t hurt Kevin now.”

Raymond looked straight ahead. He could not shake this horrible feeling, this sense of foreboding.

He spoke without taking his eyes off the road, his hands tightening their grip on the steering wheel. “Yes, that is what I said.”

They drove the rest of the way in grim silence.

***

Raymond spotted Gertie instantly. She was parked in Kevin’s spot, locked and seemingly unmolested. He circled the car once on foot, peering into the windows to make sure nothing was amiss. There was no sign of Kevin; at this point Raymond had not expected one.

“So now we know he didn’t drive anywhere else,” Jake sighed, “but, on the bright side, this campus has video surveillance, right?”

“Yes.” Raymond glanced around until he saw a camera. “The surveillance is restricted to certain areas, as far as I know, but there should be cameras in most hallways and other spaces open to students. We should check Kevin’s office first, then go and talk to security staff about accessing the footage.”

“Okay. Sounds like a plan! I always knew you were more than just a hot piece of ass, Captain!”

_“Peralta.”_

“What? You loved it when Kev said it…”

***

Peralta’s ʻfunʼ ʻquipsʼ did not make Raymond feel better. Although the detective tried his hardest to act as though this was just another day and things would turn out fine in the end, Raymond was not his usual self when they got off the elevator on Kevin’s floor. His palms were sweaty, his mouth dry; he was blinking every five seconds. He was a complete mess.

As they walked down the hallway past colorful flyers advertising art exhibitions and proof-reading services, Raymond glanced at his phone. No missed calls, no new messages. Nothing.

The door to Kevin’s office was ajar.

Raymond pushed it open and leaned inside. From where he stood, he could see the neat row of books on Kevin’s desk, his husband’s laptop, a stack of folders and his empty chair. He turned his head slightly and there was Kevin’s coat on the hanger.

“Okay, so all his stuff is here and he’s not back yet. That doesn’t necessarily have to mean anything.”

Ignoring Jake as well as the eyes of Terry’s portrait which were staring at him in silent judgment, Raymond took a step back.

“Peralta, can you check my husband’s office for clues regarding his whereabouts? I want to talk to the department secretary again.”

“Sure thing, Captain.”

Raymond had taken exactly five steps away from the door when Peralta called out to him, his voice high pitched with worry, “Uh, Captain Holt, you need to look at this right now!”

Raymond turned on the spot and strode back into his husband’s office. “What is it?”

Peralta stood behind Kevin’s desk, his face stricken, his gaze glued to the screen of the open laptop.

“Detective?” Slowly, Raymond walked around to see what was so disturbing to Jake.

“There’s a message,” Jake said tonelessly, pointing at the screen. A word file was open. A single sentence had been typed out, the pulsing cursor clinging to the last letter.

_you’re too late_

Raymond swallowed.

“Sir? Is that—”

Right beneath the screen lay Kevin’s ring. The cool, white light from the computer shimmered across the gold.

It eviscerated him.

“Captain? Captain Holt? Sir? You’re just standing there and it’s… not great… Look, I’m calling the precinct. Then we’ll go get the surveillance footage and then—Are you even listening?” Raymond did not react when Peralta waved a hand in his face. “Captain Holt! Kevin’s in danger, we have to move now!”

Cold certainty had settled in his bones. The tableau in front of him confirmed his darkest fears. Kevin would not have left his office unlocked; he would not have gone out without his coat; he would not have forgotten the meeting with his colleague. He would never have taken off his wedding ring and left this crude message. There was only one explanation. “It’s too late, Peralta,” he said, allowing himself to slide into despair. Why fight it? Despair was all he deserved. “He’s dead. I failed to protect my husband. I got him killed.”

Peralta gaped at him. “Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool, okay, cool, okay. I can totally deal with you losing your mind right now.” He blinked, then threw up his hands. “No, what am I saying?! Sir, you can’t lose your mind right now!”

“I told him he was safe… I said he had nothing to worry about and now—” Raymond looked around the office, a place that was empty and meaningless without Kevin. Just like their home would be. “He’s gone. And I was the pied piper who lead him to his death.”

“We don’t know he’s dead! Okay? We do _not_ know that. And you know what, Sir? Right now, you’re not his husband. You’re a cop at a crime scene and you need to do your job!” The vehemence of Peralta’s outburst had Raymond momentarily stunned. “You think it has something to do with Murphy? Then follow that lead! Plus, we have the security cameras, we _need _to get on this _now_!”

He could not do it. He could not move. He could not fight off images of his husband’s dead body, rising up from the black sea of his mind. Raymond shook his head, tears filling his eyes.

Peralta sighed. His eyes, too, were wet.

He sniffed once, then straightened his shoulders.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to work.” Jake took a few steps, looking around the office. “There’s no camera in here, but we’ll bag the laptop and the ring and dust them for prints. No signs of a struggle, so Kevin probably wasn’t attacked here. There _is _a camera in the hallway, the security footage should tell us where Kev went.”

He dug his cellphone out of his leather jacket. “I’m calling the squad right now,” he declared, holding Raymond’s eyes.

The raw pain and desperate hope in Peralta’s eyes shook something loose in Raymond. A memory of Kevin standing next to newly bought Gertie, his face so open, so vulnerable, so beautiful.

_Raymond, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I know we haven’t been dating that long; I know this may seem rash, especially after the fight we had. But I am not just going to give up on you. Because I am in love with you._

_I am in love with you, _Raymond thought_, I have been in love with you for decades and I cannot even imagine a future wherein I am not in love with you, Kevin_. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself.

He owed it to his husband to keep fighting. If there was even a smidgen of hope, he had to hold onto it until the bitter end.

Next to him, Jake was on the phone, explaining the situation to Sergeant Jeffords.

“Peralta, tell them to contact the Metropolitan Correctional Center; I want a list of every visitor and phone call Seamus Murphy has had since his incarceration.” Jake looked at him, eyes wide, then he nodded once, some of the gloom lifting from his expression. Raymond returned the nod and continued, “Contact the FBI as well. We need the names of everyone who was charged in their RICO case. Anyone who got off with a light sentence or was released on parole is a suspect.”

***

“Do you know this guy?”

Raymond stared at the black and white footage playing out on the screen in front of them. Peralta was pointing to the young man who had walked into frame and stopped in front of Kevin’s office. They watched him knock on Kevin’s door. Raymond’s hands balled into fists of their own accord.

“Yeah, that’s Jamey. He’s a janitor. Pretty new.” The security staff member on duty, a middle-aged man, whose nametag read R. Walter, shrugged. “Dunno what he wants from Professor Cozner, though. Jamey’s never on this floor.”

The scene played out before them. Kevin appeared. The young man said something to him; he nodded and followed the janitor to a door at the end of the hallway. They both entered.

“Oh, Kev,” Peralta sighed.

Raymond looked at the timestamp. 7:18.

He focused on that, the timeline, the next steps. It was better than allowing himself to dwell on emotions. Watching Kevin, sweet, trusting, _stupid _Kevin, follow this stranger into a supply room with no cameras – the proverbial lamb to slaughter – made his gut churn with fury.

_Have you learned nothing,_ he wanted to yell at the grainy image of Kevin, _it’s the library all over again! _

“We will need copies of this footage and everything you have on this person,” he said, his eyes trained on the door that had swallowed his husband.

***

“At 7:24 he comes back out with this huge supply cart.” Peralta pinned up a still of the surveillance footage showing their suspect pushing a cart loaded with cleaning utensils. “No sign of Kevin. We never see him leave the room. He’s got to be in the cart, unconscious.”

_Or dead,_ no one interjected, though Raymond knew they were all thinking it. Clenching his jaw, he nodded at Jake.

“We’ve got footage of this guy getting into this van in the parking lot.” Another picture was added to the briefing room pinboard, this time of the suspect loading his cart into a non-descript grey van. “Aaaand Charles ran the plates and has come up with…” An overly dramatic flourish with his hand towards Boyle, who jumped up from his chair and brandished a few sheets of paper.

“It was registered to a now bankrupt firm called Mason inc., owner Laurence Mason—”

“Who got twenty years for money laundering in the Murphy family RICO trial,” Rosa interrupted. “Scumbag had a stroke though and has been in a coma since last month.”

“Which brings us to his son Jason,” Santiago held up a photo. It was the suspect, grinning.

Rosa nodded. “Jason Mason, scumbag junior. Pic’s from his high school yearbook.”

“Jason Mason, really?” Peralta pulled a face, which earned him glares from both his wife and Diaz. “It’s just such a dumb name,” he mumbled.

Jeffords got up and walked to the board. Unlike everyone else, he addressed Raymond directly. “We have a location, Sir. It’s the old Mason inc. warehouse. The bank foreclosed on it, but it’s not been sold yet. We have several images of the van from street surveillance which lead us to believe it was heading to that location. We also have a statement from the suspect’s mother corroborating that her son still has access to the building. But we don’t think he was working alone. We don’t know how many people might be with him or what kind of weapons they have.”

Raymond held Terry’s gaze. He felt the tension of the unspoken question between them. He saw Terry’s apprehension but also his empathy and determination.

The whole squad had sprung into action the second they had heard about Kevin. They had worked with incredible speed and precision and Raymond was prouder of them than he had ever been. And yet, he knew he had to ask even more of them.

For Kevin.

“We’re going in. Right now. Get ready.”

Sergeant Jeffords nodded and turned to the squad.

There was no joy when he shouted “Nine-nine!” Instead his voice was full of courage and determination, which the squad returned to him tenfold.

“We’ll find your husband, Captain,” Terry said to Raymond as he passed on his way out of the briefing room.

“Thank you, Sergeant.” Closing his eyes briefly, Raymond reflected on the fact that Terry was no rookie. He had not claimed Kevin would be alive when they found him.

***

In the van, Raymond sat between Peralta and Boyle, their shoulders bumping his at every turn.

He tried not to think about Kevin, to push away the images of his husband’s dead body.

_Have you seen what a bullet does to an orange?_

He closed his eyes.

_Kevin in Barbados, covering himself in layers and layers of sunscreen._

_You really are the fairest of them all, Raymond had said, and Kevin had laughed and laughed and laughed. _

He opened his eyes.

Peralta reached over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“He’ll be okay, Captain, I promise,” he said.

“I told you, Detective,” Raymond replied, the words barely making it out of his throat, “don’t make any promises to the victim’s family. It’s a rookie mistake.”

***

When they filed out of the van and fell into formation, Raymond automatically took point. His heart was beating faster and harder than it had on his first police raid. Disturbingly, he felt two opposing impulses, the need to get into the building immediately and the need to stay where he was, frozen in place.

But his squad was around him, Jeffords and Peralta to his left and right, Santiago, Diaz and Boyle two steps behind. If there was any comfort to be found in this situation, it was that he was not alone.

The grey van was parked in front of the building, a rectangular block with a washed-out sign saying Mason inc. in red capital letters.

Apart from the car there was no sign of anyone on the perimeter. While Boyle checked the van, Raymond and the rest of the squad headed towards the entrance.

Raymond had just put his hand on the door when two consecutive gunshots ripped through the silence. He found himself bursting through the door with no regard for police protocol, his mind blank.

“Captain,” Terry barked under his breath, snatching him by the arm.

Somewhere behind them, Raymond heard Santiago radio for backup.

A part of Raymond wanted to shake the Sergeant off and storm toward the source of the gunshots. He wanted to scream his husband’s name; he was losing control and tired of fighting it.

Instead he drew in a deep breath. “Sergeant Jeffords, take point. Peralta.” He jerked his head toward the end of the hallway, motioning for the other men to pass by him.

Raymond followed slowly, trying to pull himself together.

Past the door was another long corridor, lined with more doors. Santiago, Boyle and Diaz broke off from the group to check the other rooms.

Raymond followed Jeffords and Peralta.

He saw them stop for a moment before moving on. There was something on the ground.

When he got closer, he saw what it was.

A crumpled piece of fabric. Dark with dried blood, but green underneath the reddish-brown stains. _Paris green_, his mind supplied unbidden. The tie Kevin had bought in Paris, for the pun but also because he liked the color. He had worn it this morning.

Raymond had not thought his heart could break more than it already had, but emotions continued to surprise him. It took all his willpower to tear his gaze off his husband’s tie.

Behind him, he heard Santiago and Diaz call out, “Clear” as they passed through the other rooms.

Up ahead, Sergeant Jeffords burst through the door, Peralta on his heels. Raymond hurried to catch up to them.

“NYPD, drop your weapon!” the two shouted in unison as Raymond, eyes brimming with tears, followed, his own gun raised and ready.


	3. Chapter 3

Blood. He smelled it; he tasted it. Sweet, coppery, sickening.

Through half-lidded eyes Kevin saw grained wood soaked in his blood, dark brown. He fought for every shallow breath, the heavy, warm weight of the other man bearing down on him.

“Hmmm, not bad,” murmured Number one into his ear.

Kevin tried not to feel what he felt. He wanted to detach from his body, from the abused flesh, the frayed nerves, the pressure and wetness inside of him.

He made no sound when the sensation changed, when there was movement and the other man pulled out. There was no relief, only disgust, the horrible realization that something had been left behind inside his body.

He would have to be tested again. If he lived.

The weight lifted from his back. It made breathing easier.

Kevin heard Number one adjust his clothing and zip himself back up.

Then he slapped Kevin’s ass. The obscene sound echoed in Kevin’s ears. He barely even felt the sting.

“How about it, kid, you wanna have a go?”

Kevin closed his eyes.

“No thanks…”

“There’s still one hole I haven’t got to yet. Shame to let it go to waste. Hm?”

The pad of a thumb brushed the seam of his mouth. Kevin pressed his lips together. Not thinking. Not imagining.

“Nah, I’m good.” The sound of feet shuffling, the rustle of fabric sliding against metal.

It reminded him of that time Raymond had told him about a radio game he and his colleagues had played. Guessing the origin of a mundane noise. How Kevin had smiled and nodded and secretly worried about his Raymond, who had clearly become somewhat overinvested. He marveled at this person, that man named Kevin Cozner, who could not imagine anything worse than his husband sliding back into his gambling addiction.

Kevin cracked one eye open and saw a gun in the young man’s right hand.

Number two moved restlessly as he spoke, gesturing awkwardly with the gun. “We should finish this…You know, just… you know.”

Kevin’s heart was pounding, his breath shallow and frantic. Even after all that had happened, he did not want to die.

“We got time. His lecture doesn’t start for hours. No one’s gonna come looking for him anytime soon,” the man behind him shot back.

The young man shrugged, not fully convinced. “I want to get this over with.”

Kevin closed his eye. He could not take this. He could not—

_Have you seen what a bullet does to an orange?_

Would it be quick? Would it hurt more than it already did?

“Hey, we’re supposed to make him suffer.” Annoyed now. “It’s what the boss wants.”

“Sure, but—"

A sharp staccato of footsteps as Number one stalked past him. “Look at him, he’s not all here. He’s barely conscious. Plus, we’re supposed to slit his throat, not shoot him. You wanna do it now?”

Kevin held his breath. If his throat was cut, he would either bleed to death or die from lack of oxygen and aspiration of blood, depending on where and how deep the cut was. Both options would be slower and more painful than a headshot. But which would be worse, the carotid arteries or the trachea?

“Didn’t think so,” Number one spat, disgusted.

Slowly, Kevin released his breath. He was trembling.

“Here’s what we’ll do: we give him a little while to really stew in it and then we take him for round two and finish this thing.” Number one touched Kevin’s head, brushing his fingers through his hair the way Raymond sometimes did. Kevin wanted to throw up. “We still have plenty of time, darling. Our last dance is gonna be real special.”

***

Kevin did not fight when they tied his wrists with duct tape again. He did not struggle when they dragged him back to the small room where he’d woken up. He let himself go limp, refusing to open his eyes or give any indication that he was still conscious.

When he hit the ground, he allowed himself to black out.

***

_Kevin had never seen Raymond this way. He sat at the dinner table in their shared apartment, his fork hovering over Kevin’s baked chicken parmesan, a vacant expression on his face. _

_“I’m sorry,” Kevin tried, “I think I might have gone a little overboard with the marinara sauce. I felt like trying something different tonight.”_

_“Hm?” Raymond glanced at him, then down at the food on his plate as though he had only just noticed it. He tried a small bite, chewing mechanically. “It’s very… flavorful,” he said. “Thank you for preparing dinner. I know you have lot of work with the end of the semester coming up.”_

_Kevin shrugged. “I enjoy cooking for you.”_

_Raymond glanced up again, the distant look in his eyes softening when they met Kevin’s. _

_Kevin tried for an encouraging smile, but he feared that despite his best efforts it came out tinged with insecurity and worry. They’d only been together for little more than a year; there were still so many things they didn’t know about each other. Kevin had only caught glimpses of Raymond’s work life, but what little he had seen had seemed awful. _

_In fact, Raymond’s situation at work had been the subject of the worst fight they had ever had._

_Since then, Kevin had learned to tread lightly._

_And yet, he could see that Raymond was suffering. His eyes, usually so expressive, were dull and lifeless; his face, usually so open and animated, seemed like an impenetrable concrete mask. Something had happened. It was obvious. _

_Kevin decided to confront the problem head on. “Did something happen at work today?” he asked._

_Raymond’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m not sure that is an appropriate topic for the dinner table.”_

_“Raymond, you’re clearly upset. If something is troubling you, I would like you to talk to me about it. As your boyfriend, as your partner, I’m here for you.”_

_“I appreciate your concern, but I don’t want to burden you unnecessarily.”_

_“If my sharing your burden lightens the weight you carry, there is nothing unnecessary about it,” Kevin said firmly. _

_Raymond seemed to think this over for a second. Then he gave the smallest of nods._

_“I had to handle a very upsetting case. The crime scene was gruesome.”_

_“I see…,” Kevin said, though in truth he didn’t, not really. He did not like to contemplate the horrors Raymond faced on a daily basis. He did not like to think about Raymond out there with his badge and his gun, constantly in danger, with colleagues so racist and homophobic Kevin could not comprehend how Raymond was expected to trust them to come to his aid in a crisis. _

_Noticing his hesitation, Raymond put down his fork. “We don’t have to talk about this, Kevin.”_

_“We don’t have to, but I want you to know that we can, whenever you need to.”_

_They had both lost their appetite after that. Kevin cleared away the dishes, announcing that they could always eat the leftovers the next day. Perhaps Raymond would like to take some to work for lunch? _

_For a while, they sat on the couch, side by side, thighs touching, each of them reading quietly. Still, Kevin could tell that Raymond was distracted. That he thought about bringing the case up once again. Kevin did not know whether he was hoping for his boyfriend to confide in him. He wanted Raymond’s trust; he wanted to support the man he loved, but the reality of his job was terrifying. _

_They went to bed early, Kevin following quickly when Raymond announced he would like to retire. _

_In bed, in the dark, they lay next to each other, neither of them capable of sleep. _

_Kevin rolled onto his side to face Raymond, who as usual lay on his back. Unsurprisingly, his eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. Kevin reached out and put a hand on his arm._

_“Come here,” he said._

_Raymond gave him an incredulous look. _

_“Just come here,” Kevin repeated, tugging on his boyfriend’s arm. He scooted up on the bed and pulled Raymond into an embrace. After a heartbeat, Raymond settled in Kevin’s arms, his head on Kevin’s shoulder. _

_“This position is completely unsuited for sleeping,” Raymond pointed out._

_“I know, but you weren’t sleeping anyway.” Because he could, Kevin buried his nose in his boyfriend’s dark curls. “I thought talking about it might help you.”_

_Raymond sighed; Kevin could feel his reluctance in the tension in his shoulders. He stroked Raymond’s back, feeling the heat of his body through the fabric of his pajama top._

_ “It was a murder-suicide. A man killed his family, then himself.”_

_“How awful.”_

_“Yes. I find it… difficult to look at the bodies of little children.”_

_“I can’t even imagine.” Kevin swallowed thickly. He tried not to picture what Raymond had seen._

_“One of the first things they tell you at the academy is that bad things happen to innocent people, and that sometimes we cannot prevent that.”_

_“I don’t know how you do it,” Kevin whispered, holding Raymond a little tighter. _

_“By having hope,” Raymond replied. “By believing that while I could not make a difference today, I might make one tomorrow.” _

_His heart swelling, Kevin leaned down and pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead. _

_Raymond looked up at him with his beautiful dark eyes. “You know,” he said, “I think my dismissal of this as a suitable sleeping position might have been a tad premature. Would you mind if I stayed like this tonight? Only as a test, of course.”_

_Kevin pretended to give this some thought as he carded a hand through Raymond’s hair. “I think we owe it to ourselves to explore all our options regarding valid sleeping positions.”_

_“Agreed,” Raymond said and snuggled closer. Then, much softer, his mustache tickling Kevin’s skin, “Thank you.”_

_It turned out that Kevin could not sleep at all with Raymond half on top of him, but he did not mind because he loved holding his boyfriend in his arms as he slept. It made him feel incredibly protective. _

_This was, Kevin decided then, something he aspired to do. He would do everything to create a space where Raymond, who was so strong and noble, who fought so hard to make the world a better place, could feel safe and loved._

***

Pain pulled Kevin back into his body. He heard his own heartbeat, a violent thrum pounding in his temples. When he became aware enough to feel the burning throb in his lower body, his stomach roiled with nausea. He convulsed with cramps, dry heaving on the floor. His arms strained against the duct-tape, all sensation in his left hand reduced to the pain of his broken finger.

He lay like that for a few moments, gasping on the cold floor, trying to breathe through the pain.

He had to take stock.

He was injured. He had been beaten and strangled. One of his fingers was broken, so was his nose probably. But his head was clearer than before.

Kevin did not know how much time he had. How long had he been unconscious? How long until his tormentors came back?

He closed his eyes, remembering what Number one had said. _His lecture doesn’t start for hours. _Today was Tuesday, he realized. He had gotten up early and left the house at 6:30. Raymond had kissed him at the door, Cheddar’s leash in his hand. 

_Have a productive day, Kevin._

_You too, _Kevin had replied, already preoccupied with the editing he planned to do.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he wondered whether this trivial interaction had been their last. Kevin’s heart ached at the thought. How could he allow a downright dismissive _you too_ to be the last thing he said to love of his life? It was unthinkable.

Kevin’s right hand found purchase on the floor. He arched his back and fought through the pain to get his legs under him. Suppressing a groan, he levered himself up onto his knees. For a few heartbeats he didn’t move.

It was Tuesday. Which meant Number one had been talking about his weekly lecture on the history of Greek literature, which was supposed to begin at 2:10 p.m. With a shudder Kevin reminded himself that they wanted him dead by then. They would cut his throat and let him bleed out.

But before that—

No, he would not let that happen again.

Trembling from effort and pain, Kevin leaned back, his bound wrists searching blindly for the heel of his brogues. There was an edge there. Not especially sharp, but it had to do. Kevin had to make it work somehow. 

He ground his wrists into the edge and started rubbing hard, suppressing whimpers whenever his broken finger came into contact with anything. It was a torturous endeavor. The angle was awkward; the pressure on his already aching lower body almost unbearable.

His heart pounding frantically, Kevin sawed at the duct tape, pausing every few seconds to listen for any noise. 

It took what felt like an eternity.

By the time the duct tape was ripped and loose, sweat trickled down the side of Kevin’s face. He gritted his teeth and pulled his wrists free, then he doubled over, bracing himself on the floor. He needed a moment to catch his breath and come up with some kind of plan.

With shaking hands, Kevin took off his tie, stuffed the bloody thing into his pockets and hitched up his trousers.

There was a thread of light bleeding in from under the door.

On his knees and one hand Kevin crawled towards it. He pressed his uninjured hand against the wall to push himself up onto his feet.

Once he was upright, he leaned on the wall for support. His knees were weak; he hurt everywhere; he was short of breath. Kevin didn’t want to dwell on what that meant for his odds against the two men who wanted to kill him. They were younger than him, uninjured and armed.

Kevin knew he was no Captain Raymond Holt, who could fight three men in an alley and come out the winner – albeit lightly stabbed.

He needed to find a way to escape.

Resting his back against the wall, Kevin reached over to the door handle. He waited, holding his breath, listening intently. A few seconds passed. There was no sound but the thrum of his own heartbeat. He pulled the handle down as slowly and carefully as he could, cringing when there was a soft click. Unsurprisingly, though, the door did not open. It was locked.

Kevin let his hand drop. This was to be expected, he berated himself silently, pushing through the despair threatening to swallow him.

What options did he have now?

Breaking down the door was out of the question. Attempting it would make a lot of noise, which would certainly alert his captors and Kevin doubted he had the strength to force the door open anyway. The most likely outcome of such an undertaking would be that he would throw himself against the door, possibly injuring himself further, and draw the attention of the men who wanted to kill him.

He reached out again, this time feeling around for the lock. When his fingertips found it, he wondered why he had even bothered. He did not know how to pick a lock; he had nothing he could use to try. He was not equipped for this situation in any way.

Kevin sagged against the wall. All he could do was wait for them to come back.

He thought briefly of his last will and testament. Whatever happened to him today, at least he had the comfort of knowing that he had long since taken care of the formalities. In addition to his notarized will, there was a letter to Raymond, a brief personal message, not overly emotional but clear and concise, something Raymond would appreciate. 

However, there was something his Raymond would appreciate more.

Kevin slipped over to the other side of the door. It opened into the room, he remembered.

When he moved, his open belt buckle clinked softly, his trousers sliding. He caught them with his right hand, buttoned them, pulled the zipper up. No point thinking about it. He pushed the pain to the back of his mind.

Today’s lecture would have been about Antigone.

Kevin pulled his belt out of the loops.

***

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he started hearing something on the other side of the door. Kevin tried to control his breathing, his right hand pulling restlessly on the belt he’d wrapped around his left wrist.

It would be quicker this way, he told himself, getting shot would put an end to this indignity. He owed it to Raymond to fight back; he owed it to himself as well.

Kevin’s pulse was racing.

He only heard one set of footsteps.

His throat was tight.

Pain reverberated through his entire body.

A scratching noise as the key was inserted into the lock.

Kevin held his breath and pulled the belt taunt until the leather cut into his skin.

A click.

The door was opened.

The sudden brightness made Kevin squint.

In less than a second, his captor would call for backup. In less than a second, he would close the door, find Kevin behind it, and shoot him. In less than a second Kevin would die.

“Huh?” Number two said and stepped into the room.

Kevin threw himself against the door. The pain was exquisite, but the door hit the other man in the back, sending him stumbling. Kevin fell on top of him. Before Number two had time to produce more than a breathless _Ooof_, Kevin looped his belt around the young man’s neck. He dug his knee into Number two’s lower back and pulled as hard as he could, gritting his teeth through the pain.

He had seen this in one of Peralta’s awful movies.

Reality was another beast entirely.

The young man beneath him thrashed around wildly, his hands clawing at the belt around his neck. Kevin had to bear down with everything he had to keep the pressure on his throat. The boy was trying to scream but he could barely gasp; he was in a mindless panic, moving on instinct, fighting to suck air into his lungs.

Kevin did not let go. He was not thinking.

Not thinking about the pain, not thinking about what he was doing to another human being, not thinking about the open door and the other man, who might walk in any second, with a gun in his hand, ready to put a bullet into Kevin’s brain.

Kevin did not let go until the body beneath him was quiet, not until it had been motionless for a countless number of his own thunderous heartbeats.

His hand was shaking when he released the belt. He loosened it and pulled it over his left wrist, careful not to touch his broken finger, which, he could see now, was swollen to almost twice its normal size.

Kevin swallowed the bile rising in his throat and stared down at the limp body beneath him. He pushed himself off the young man and kneeled next to him for a few moments, catching his breath.

Somewhere in the building not too far away, Kevin heard a door opening and closing.

There was no time.

His gaze landed on the gun strapped to the young man’s side.

***

_Kevin did not know how exactly their conversation had taken this turn, but he didn’t have to think about his answer even for a second. “I am not doing that, Raymond.”_

_There was a sigh on the other end of the line. Kevin could hear a phone ringing somewhere in the precinct before his husband spoke again. “It’s for your own safety. We have a gun in the house. You should know how to use it, Kevin.”_

_Was this irrational request Raymond’s sole reason for calling him? Kevin paced through the living-room, phone receiver pressed to his ear, trying to remember the last time he had had a pleasant conversation with his husband. “This is absurd. It is beyond absurd. It is ludicrous.”_

_In Paris. The last time they had actually enjoyed each other’s company had been in Paris. _

_“Do you have any idea how afraid I was for you, alone in the house with Figgis out there looking for me? I want you to be able to defend yourself.” Raymond’s tone was beseeching, his voice low, probably to keep his colleagues from overhearing. Kevin did not know why he even bothered anymore, given how far he had let Peralta and company intrude into their private lives already._

_“In case an assassin comes to my house to murder my husband? Is this the life we’re living now? Do you listen to yourself?”_

_“Kevin—"_

_Oh, how he hated that tone, the exasperation, as if Kevin was the one being childish and obtuse. _

_“No, Raymond,” Kevin interrupted, “do _you_ know how afraid_ I_ am for you _every day_? Knowing that you are out there with people trying to _kill _you? I cannot do this. I cannot let this part of your life become a part of mine because it will drive me insane.” It was already making him bitter._

_And of course Raymond replied in his ʻI am being calm and reasonableʼ-voice which Kevin knew for a fact he used on his sister Debbie whenever she ranted at him on the phone. “All I am asking is that you come to the shooting range with me for a few hours, so I can teach you the very basics. It is hardly going to become a major part of your life. I am not asking you to join the force, Kevin.”_

_“Perhaps you should. Being married to a fellow policeman might actually make you happy.” There was the bitterness on full display now. Kevin let himself drop onto the couch, causing Cheddar to run over to be petted. _

_“Being married to you makes me happy, Kevin. I love you. But you are alone every night because I have to work the damn night shift and I can’t focus because I worry about you all the time. Please, let me take you to the shooting range. I am begging you.”_

_Kevin squeezed his eyes shut, his heart aching as he remembered coming back from Paris only to find his husband gone. Now with the night shift, it was almost worse. He would wake up in the morning in their empty bed, he would go to work, then return home and sneak around the house like some kind of burglar in order to not wake his husband. He would make dinner for two, only to put Raymond’s portion into Tupperware so he could take it to work with him. When Raymond got up, he was invariably tired and in a bad mood; he would shower and get dressed and leave the house without saying more than two words to Kevin._

_A lump of sadness in his throat, Kevin bent down to scratch behind Cheddar’s ears. What was there to say? I love you as well, more than anything. If you want me to go to the shooting range, I will. Anything to spend time with you because I miss you so much it hurts._

_Kevin swallowed._

_He could not do it._

_“I have to go now, Raymond,” he said instead, “I have to take Cheddar for a walk.”_

***

It was heavy.

A semiautomatic 9mm.

Kevin remembered Raymond’s explanations. Long and detailed and delivered in Raymond’s downright hypnotic baritone.

_“Spread your legs.”_

He took it into his right hand, pointing it at the ground to look for the magazine release and the safety.

_“Raymond, this is a public place.”_

Kevin released the magazine and checked it. It was full. Seventeen rounds. He pushed it back up until it clicked into place.

_“Kevin, have some decorum.”_

The safety was above the trigger. Kevin flipped it.

_“You’re the one telling people to ʻspreadʼ their ʻlegsʼ.”_

He got to his feet.

_“Please take this seriously. Now stand with your legs shoulder width apart and keep a slight bend in your elbows. Like this.” _

Using his injured hand, Kevin pulled the slide back and released it, chambering a round just like Raymond had shown him.

He swallowed and, pointing the gun in front of him, ducked out of the room.

***

Kevin moved at a snail’s pace. The place was a labyrinth to him, and he was no Theseus. Every room looked the same, grey and empty. He would stop and stand still for a few seconds, straining to pick up any noise, but there was nothing. As certain as he was that he had heard a door earlier, now it seemed like he was the only one moving around the building.

How much time had passed since Number two had come looking for him? It could not have been more than ten minutes, and yet it felt like a lifetime. Surely Number one had become suspicious by now. He was waiting for Kevin to be brought to him for his final round of torture. How long would he wait before he came looking for them?

Kevin crept forward. He had arrived in a hallway lined with doors. The one on the very end of it behind him lead into the large area where he had been tortured. He drew in a deep breath and walked in the opposite direction, the gun still pointing in front of him.

Footsteps.

He froze. They were coming from the second door to his right, a few steps between him and his destination.

Panicked, Kevin whipped around and went the other way, stumbling towards the end of the corridor. Just as he pushed through the door, he heard the other door behind him open. Kevin made the mistake of turning around at the sound and saw to his horror that his tie had fallen out of his pocket. It was lying in plain sight on the ground and he had no time to go back and get it.

He closed the door behind him as quietly as he could, leaning against it for support. He was panting, his breath hissing through his gritted teeth. Thoughts were racing through his mind. He shouldn’t have run; he should have waited by the door and shot the other man the moment he walked through it. He wouldn’t have seen it coming. Now he would notice the tie and _know._

Now Kevin would die, and he deserved it because he was stupid. So stupid.

Kevin looked around. The table was still there. The windows too high to reach. Someone had spread black tarp on the ground a few feet from him. A bottle of bleach sat there, next to a roll of large trash bags. Kevin tore his gaze off the tableau, trying not to think about its purpose. Sick to his stomach, he tightened his grip on his gun, his index finger resting on the trigger.

He dragged himself away from the door to the table and pushed it over. The noise didn’t matter anymore. He knew the other man was coming for him anyway. Kevin ducked behind the table. The thin wood would not be enough to stop any bullets, but at least he was hidden from view. The other man wouldn’t know exactly where to aim, and Kevin might have a split second between shots to fire back.

_No, this is idiotic,_ Kevin thought, just as the door swung open.

He saw Number one walk in, he saw the sneer on the other man’s face as he aimed his gun. He saw the door falling shut again.

Kevin was mid-stumble when the shot rang out.

***

_Raymond’s hands settled on his wrists to adjust Kevin’s stance by subtly pushing to the right. Kevin ʻaccidentallyʼ shifted his weight, causing his bottom to brush very lightly against Raymond’s crotch. The breath Raymond released tickled the back of Kevin’s neck. He suppressed a shiver._

_“Focus,” Raymond said._

_His voice made every nerve-ending in Kevin’s body tingle. It was shameful how much this was turning him on even with the silly safety glasses and ear protectors._

_“Don’t,” Raymond said sternly, reading his mind. _

_“I’m sorry, but this feels more natural to me,” Kevin replied and backed into his husband once more._

_Raymond did not budge. “We can discuss your…” he paused meaningfully, “_feelings_ at home, dear. Right now, I want you to shoot the target.”_

_Kevin took aim and pulled the trigger. He flinched at the recoil, but Raymond was behind him, solid and steady. _

***

Kevin felt something rip past him. It was a reflex, the way he turned and pulled the trigger. Without thinking. Raymond’s calm voice in his ears, _Aim for center mass._

Kevin had expected death, he had not expected Number one’s wide eyes and open mouth. He had not expected the red hole in the middle of the other man’s chest. Number one fell backwards as though he had been punched. His gun slipped from his twitching hand.

Kevin hurried over, kicking it away from the crumpled man. He kept his gun trained on Number one’s face, not sure what to do next.

The other man stared up at him, his mouth moving without producing more than wet gasps. A bloodstain was expanding from the dark gunshot wound in his chest. Kevin watched it pool under him and creep towards his own shoes.

“Fuck…” Number one managed, his face scrunching up, his eyes boring into Kevin, “You…”

Kevin felt nothing. He was numb.

He thought about the camera. All he had to do was find it and erase the footage. Then he could go home and patch himself up. He could just walk out of this place and leave it all behind. No one would have to know.

He met the other man’s hateful stare and pointed the gun at his forehead.

Kevin inhaled.

Number one’s eyes were wet; his lips trembling.

Kevin blinked and saw his crumpled tie soaking up blood.

His index finger tensed on the trigger.

He barely flinched when the door burst open.

“NYPD, drop your weapon!”


	4. Chapter 4

Ever since they had discovered his husband’s ring, Raymond had been trying to prepare himself for the inevitable. For the moment when they would find the crime scene. It had been easier to think about it this way, the crime scene, not Kevin, not Kevin’s body. In his career there had been countless crime scenes, some of them beyond horrifying, but there was and would only ever be one Kevin. He was irreplaceable. 

When Raymond stepped through the door, he was not prepared.

Two men, one standing up, pointing a gun at the second one, who was lying on the floor in a puddle of his own blood.

Aiming his weapon at the first man was pure instinct. Then he blinked and his brain processed what his eyes were telling him. _Kevin._

His arms dropped, pointing his gun at the ground. The flood of emotions washing over him was so powerful that it threatened to bring him to his knees. Raymond’s throat was too tight with tears to speak.

Kevin was alive.

However, he was almost unrecognizable.

He was standing there, in dark slacks and what used to be a white shirt – now stained with blood and dirt – his hair a mess, his face bruised and bloody. His left arm was hanging limply by his side, while his right was still outstretched, the gun clutched in his hand. He hadn’t raised his eyes from his target; in fact, he barely even seemed to notice that he was no longer alone.

Raymond had never seen such a cold, vacant look in his husband’s eyes. It shook him to the core.

“Kevin?” Peralta broke the moment of shocked silence, his tone now careful and gentle, the one he always used when talking to a victim.

Kevin did not react.

All eyes were on his finger on the trigger. He was tense and shaking and though Raymond had known and loved this man for decades, he realized he had no idea what Kevin would do next. 

Peralta inched closer. Both he and the sergeant had lowered their weapons slightly but would still be able to fire in an instant.

“Kev? Put the gun down, buddy. It’s okay.” His right hand remaining on his gun, Jake made a calming gesture with his left.

The man on the ground let out a wet gasping sound.

Kevin did not move.

“Sir,” Jeffords hissed.

The sharpness of his sergeant’s tone reminded Raymond of who and where he was. This was a crime scene; he was in command. A man was dying, and it was his job to prevent that. He was Raymond Holt, Captain of the 99th NYPD precinct.

But none of that mattered because first and foremost he was Kevin Cozner’s husband.

“Kevin,” he said, his voice soft and filled with tenderness. It was a tone he’d never used outside of their house; one that, under normal circumstances, he would never have used in front of his colleagues.

Finally startled out of his strange stasis, Kevin looked up. “Raymond?” he whispered. His eyes were wide and blue and filled with disbelief. And now that the light really hit him, the bruises on his face stood out more starkly on his pale skin, the dark stains in his beard showed just how much he had bled.

With grim anger at his own idiocy, Raymond realized how wrong he had been. Of course, Kevin would not shoot this man. For as long as he had known Kevin, Raymond had never seen his husband perform even one thoughtless or violent action. Everything he touched, he treated with respect. In the garden he would pick caterpillars off his roses and set them down into the grass a few feet away. When he had to dispose of something, he did so carefully, never spilling or breaking anything even as he put it in the garbage. 

The only time Raymond had ever seen his husband fight had been when Kevin had attacked Seamus Murphy and his henchman. To protect Raymond.

No, Kevin would never execute an enemy who had already been rendered harmless.

Seeing the pain in his husband’s eyes, seeing the red welts on his neck, Raymond closed the distance between them in three long strides with no regard for police procedure. Fury was boiling inside him, growing hotter with every step.

Behind him he heard the sergeant radio for an ambulance. It only made Raymond that much angrier.

This man had put his Kevin through hell. He did not deserve help. He deserved to die.

Every heartbeat pounded this knowledge into his brain, he had failed to protect his husband. He had not been in time to save Kevin; Kevin had been alone, forced to fight for his life, when Raymond should have been there.

***

_Ignoring the gun in his husband’s hand, Raymond pulled Kevin into a desperate hug. Kevin sagged into him. Raymond heard the weapon clatter to the ground as Kevin’s arm wrapped around him and he buried his face in Raymond’s shoulder. His husband’s tears dampened his neck. Kevin was suppressing sobs, his whole body shaking. It was too much to bear. _

_Raymond looked down at the man on the ground, his own vision blurry. Terry was getting on his knees next to the wounded criminal, whose ragged breaths were louder than Kevin’s almost soundless crying. _

_Raymond didn’t think, he barely aimed._

_He emptied his magazine into the man’s chest, pulling the trigger again and again until the shots echoing in the large room turned into nothing but dry mechanical clicks and the body stopped jerking and lay still in a sea of bright red blood._

***

Raymond blinked. He holstered his gun.

He reached out and, holding his husband’s gaze, very gently wrapped one hand around Kevin’s right wrist. Slowly, he slid his hand down Kevin’s wrist until he felt the cold metal of the gun. His fingers found the safety and flipped it on before grasping the barrel.

There was no resistance when he tugged the gun from Kevin’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin said softly, nonsensically.

Raymond shook his head; he was too choked up to reply immediately. Instead, he handed the gun to Peralta and clasped Kevin’s shoulder.

Then he cleared his throat. “I’m taking my husband outside. Secure the rest of the building.”

“Understood,” Jeffords replied.

“Sounds like backup is coming,” Peralta said. Indeed, the faint sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. “You go ahead, we got this, Captain, Kev.”

Gently, Raymond began steering Kevin towards the exit. After less than two steps it became obvious that his husband’s injuries were impeding his ability to walk. He was limping stiffly, unable to keep up. Raymond draped Kevin’s uninjured arm over his shoulder and slipped one of his around his husband’s waist to support him. Kevin flinched at his touch, then, slowly, relaxed.

Outside they were greeted by the flashing lights of three police cars. Raymond gave the emerging officers quick instructions, then led his husband to their van. He made Kevin sit down and frowned when his husband’s breath caught during the movement. 

“Where does it hurt?”

“Just… my leg…” Kevin looked even paler than before. “I’ll be fine. It’s nothing.”

Unconvinced, Raymond leaned in closer. Kevin averted his eyes. He stared down into his lap, drawing Raymond’s gaze to his swollen index finger.

“I lost my ring,” he said softly, eyes growing moist.

They were alone now, so Raymond allowed himself to cup his husband’s cheek. To run his thumb through the bristle of his beard to the warmth of his lips. “No, they took it from you. It’s in evidence. You’ll get it back.”

“Thank you, Raymond.” Kevin swallowed, leaning into his touch. “I—I thought I would never see you again.”

“So did I,” Raymond said. He slid his hand around the back of Kevin’s neck and drew him closer for the kiss he had been longing to give him ever since their painful reunion earlier.

To his surprise, Kevin resisted, shaking his head.

“I’m covered in blood. I’m sorry, it’s disgusting.”

“Nothing about you could ever be disgusting,” Raymond murmured, but out of respect for his husband’s wishes, he pressed his lips to Kevin’s forehead instead, then his temple, savoring the warmth and feel of his husband alive in his arms. He did not want to let go of Kevin ever again.

Kevin shifted in his embrace to return it, tucking his head under Raymond’s chin. He was shivering slightly, so Raymond did let go for a second, to take off his NYPD windbreaker and drape it around Kevin’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” Kevin mumbled, drawing the windbreaker tightly around himself before settling back into Raymond’s arms.

For a while they remained like this, holding on to each other in blissful silence, bathed in the pulsing police lights flashing through the windows.

Until Raymond looked up and saw two ambulances pull into the parking lot. “I think the EMTs have arrived.”

Kevin stiffened.

“I’m okay, Raymond, really. I would prefer to go home.”

Raymond frowned. He had not expected Kevin to protest what was so obviously necessary. He pulled back to look into his husband’s eyes. “You’re injured. You need to go to the hospital.”

Kevin, too, withdrew a little. “You know how I feel about hospitals,” he said, his voice clipped. “I’m sure it looks worse than it is. There is no need to make a fuss.”

“Kevin, you’re being irrational,” Raymond pointed out. It took some effort to keep his tone neutral in light of this absurd development.

Kevin actually glared at him. “Well, this is an irrational situation,” he snapped.

Stung by the accusatory nature of the statement and the way it had been uttered, Raymond let his hand drop from Kevin’s shoulder. He needed to remain calm. Obviously, emotions were running high after the traumatic events of the day, and Kevin was a serious and stoic person by nature, who had been raised in a boys don’t cry household. He was trying very hard to keep his composure and to protect himself.

It hurt, however, that his husband apparently felt the need to protect himself from Raymond as well. “I understand, but you are going to the hospital. This is not negotiable,” he said, then, seeing Kevin’s stricken look, he put a comforting hand on his back. “I can ride with you in the ambulance and—”

“Don’t.” Kevin got up, grimacing at the pain. “I’ll be fine on my own,” he said through gritted teeth as he pushed the door of the van open.

Stunned, Raymond watched him climb out stiffly and limp towards the closest ambulance, nodding to Santiago and Diaz as he passed by them.

After a beat, Raymond followed, a few steps behind the solitary figure of his husband, who cut through the bustling police officers, his arms wrapped around himself, looking for all the world like a lone wanderer in an icy tundra.


	5. Chapter 5

_μή νυν προσεύχου μηδέν: ὡς πεπρωμένης οὐκ ἔστι θνητοῖς συμφορᾶς ἀπαλλαγή._

Over and over, the line kept running through Kevin’s mind as he stared into the eyes of the man lying on the ground in front of him.

_Pray for nothing. There’s no release for mortal human beings, not from events which destiny has set._

What time was it, he wondered. Would he be able to make it to his lecture? His students would never let him live it down if he was late, not after the scene he’d made a few weeks ago when five of them had decided to waltz into the lecture hall forty-five minutes late, disrupting his meticulously planned lecture and causing him to give a long speech about the importance of punctuality and at what point it might be more respectful to miss something entirely than to ruin it for everybody else.

Someone was talking to him, moving closer.

Number one gasped like a stranded fish, his lips rounding into an o. For a moment, Kevin thought about mid vowels in Latin and Greek. Then the thought flitted away again, reminding him of the shiny silver streaks of fish in the North Atlantic.

_μή_ _ νυν_ _ προσεύχου_ _ μηδέν_ _: ὡς_ _ πεπρωμένης_ _ οὐκ_ _ ἔστι_ _ θνητοῖς_ _ συμφορᾶς_ _ ἀπαλλαγή_ _._

The man’s forehead was damp. There was a crease between his eyebrows. Kevin had seen this look on students trying to untangle a complicated grammatical structure. He usually took pity on them if he sensed their confusion was genuine and not caused by lack of preparation.

_Pity _from Latin _pietas_, also the root of the word _piety._

_Pray for nothing._

By now his skin had warmed the trigger.

There was a short story by Tom Wolfe Kevin quite liked.

_Bullet in the Brain._

He had held a bullet on the palm of his hand once, on the shooting range with Raymond. It had been difficult to resist making the clichéd observation – Raymond hated clichés and Kevin did not want to repeat a thought voiced by so many before him, especially not one so trite – but it had been _small._ Which should not have surprised him; they had a collection of ancient Greek arrowheads in the archives in his department, but while only the heads had withstood time, they could not have been used without shafts, bows and the strong arms of a trained archer.

In the great myths, archers were actually quite insignificant, comparatively. The heroes were mostly προμάχοι, warriors using spears and shields to fight on the battlefront. 

No matter how small and insignificant an object seemed, propelled with enough force it could easily end a life. Shooting a gun didn’t take much training or skill. Even a child could do it.

_There’s no release for mortal human beings, not from events which destiny has set._

_Bullet in the Brain_. There were a few lines in the story describing the trajectory of bone shards after the protagonist had been shot in the head—

_the cerebral cortex, the corpus callosum, back toward the basal ganglia, and down into the thalamus_

And the memory they triggered in the moment of death. That was the climax of the story, that one beautiful recollection passing before the dying man’s eyes as he himself passed away.

Passing before and passing away, Raymond would have been able to construct a brilliant pun with that, Kevin thought.

Number one had brown eyes. What memories would play before them when he died? He too had once been a little boy. He might have played baseball or soccer or football.

Kevin had played little league baseball as a boy. He remembered standing on the field in his uniform, which he had loved more than the game itself, and his father telling him not to throw like a girl.

He imagined the bullet smashing into Number one’s skull, opening a gaping red hole in the center of his forehead, carving its destructive path through his brain before bursting out of the back of his head, painting the floor with the debris of his mind. All memories lost; a whole life amounting to a smear on dirty concrete.

_Are you gay?_ Kevin wanted to ask.

Not: _Why did you do this to me?_

Because the answer to that would be trivial and boring. Money. Power. Sadistic enjoyment.

_Are you gay? Were you ever ashamed and afraid of your desires? Did you keep them secret? Are you like me?_

But he wasn’t, was he. He could not be like Kevin. Kevin would never have done what he did. You had to be a certain kind of person to be capable of such cruelty.

And yet, hadn’t he argued the very opposite at that dinner party three weeks ago? Yes, he’d sat there at the table and talked about capital punishment in ancient Greece and how it compared to what was happening in their country at present. Kevin had argued against the concept capital punishment, of course. An outdated and barbaric practice, he’d called it.

People are not born evil. People can change.

_μή_ _ νυν_ _ προσεύχου_ _ μηδέν_ _: ὡς_ _ πεπρωμένης_ _ οὐκ_ _ ἔστι_ _ θνητοῖς_ _ συμφορᾶς_ _ ἀπαλλαγή_ _._

Maybe if he pulled the trigger, it would end everything for both of them.

“Kevin,” Raymond said, and the rest of the world snapped into existence again.

***

_“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?” _

_Kevin could have sworn the detective’s voice had softened over the course of the conversation, but perhaps it was just the connection. Or wishful thinking._

_“Kevin Cozner,” he replied with some regret. The interview was coming to an end; it had better, since a glance at his wristwatch told Kevin that he had kept the detective for more than ninety minutes already, and yet he was loath to hang up. He’d had so much fun. _

_“Mr Cozner—”_

_“Please, Detective, call me Kevin.” Where had that come from? Kevin bit his lip. He had been teetering on the edge of flirtation since the policeman’s first pun, but this was going too far. Better brace himself for the inevitable._

_Instead of a curt goodbye there was a moment of almost silence on the other end, punctuated by the distant voices of other officers going about their business. _

_When the detective spoke next, his tone had definitely changed. “Then you must call me Raymond, Kevin,” he said, voice lower and breathier than before. A pleasant shiver ran down Kevin’s spine. “Detective Raymond Holt.” His enunciation was perfect, every syllable given the weight it deserved._

_Kevin needed to meet this man. _

_He shot a furtive glance around his office. Of course, there was no one here to overhear, and what was there to overhear, anyway? This was still an interview, wasn’t it? Kevin swallowed. The line was right there in front of him, and he was about to cross it._

_ “Raymond, I’m sorry, this might be an imposition, but how would you feel about meeting me for a drink sometime?” he said before his rational mind had time to remind him of the million reasons why this was a bad idea. There was actual silence on the other end, as if the entire police precinct had ground to a halt in light of his outrageous proposition. “I apologize if I’m being too forward,” Kevin added hastily, his face hot with embarrassment, “I’m sure you have more important things to do.”_

_“No, no, please don’t apologize,” came the detective’s reply, uttered softly, one might say almost secretively, “I would love to have a drink with you. As a matter of fact, I’m free tonight.” _

_“Tonight?” Kevin repeated, high on hope, yet not quite ready to believe his luck, “Yes, let’s meet tonight.”_

***

“Raymond?” Kevin whispered. He could not believe what he was seeing. His husband was looking at him with so much anguish in his eyes. Raymond was suffering and that was unacceptable.

_What am I doing?_ he wondered, _how did I end up here?_

He heard the crackle of static and Sergeant Jeffords’ voice.

Raymond’s beautiful dark eyes, so close now. He was not supposed to see Kevin like this.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin said as the gun slid out of his hand.

***

Kevin could barely walk. Before, when he had been sure that he would not survive this ordeal, the pain had registered as a dull throb, now it was burning, corkscrewing into his insides. He stumbled and Raymond caught him, draping one of Kevin’s arms over his shoulders.

The trip to the van outside felt like the longest walk of Kevin’s life. By the time Raymond helped him into one of the seats, he was exhausted, too exhausted to think and so he cringed and barely managed to suppress a whimper when Raymond gently pushed him down.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Just… my leg,” Kevin lied, realizing that he was not prepared for this scenario, for still being here and having to talk to his husband, for the wave of mortification rolling over him. “I’ll be fine. It’s nothing.”

He had to tell Raymond, but he didn’t know how.

***

_Kevin stared at the article in front of him, unable to take it in. He was trying to read, to do some work, in order to distract himself from the turmoil of emotions raging inside him. He was angry and disappointed with Raymond for lying to him, for days! But also with himself. Wasn’t their relationship stronger than this? _

_My husband does not lie to me, he had told Peralta before stalking off. Foolishness, since his husband had in fact lied to him. _

_I didn’t want to frighten you._

_Who did Raymond think he was? No, Kevin already knew the answer to this question. A civilian, an especially delicate one at that, it seemed._

_A knock on the door pulled Kevin from his thoughts. Three quick raps; Raymond was clearly upset. As if that had not been enough, he cleared his throat before speaking. Drama queen._

_“Kevin, may I come in?”_

_Annoyed, Kevin narrowed his eyes at the pdf document on the screen._

_“Yes, Raymond,” he replied, although he was not in the mood to talk, but how many nights could he spend in the guest room, unable to sleep, with only Cheddar for company? _

_Raymond opened the door, then proceeded to stand in the doorway, a look of contrition on his face. _

_“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your work.”_

_Kevin sighed, watching his husband out of the corner of his eye. In uniform, bathed in the warm yellow light from the lamp, Captain Raymond Holt looked as handsome as ever. “It’s fine. I was not getting much done anyway.”_

_“Oh.” Raymond continued to stand in place, his gaze searching the room for something on which to focus. He found the article on the screen of Kevin’s laptop and stared at it._

_“Was there anything you wanted?” Kevin prodded, irritated._

_“Only to tell you that we have arrested the men who tried to mug me. They are currently in jail, awaiting trial.” _

_“Wonderful. Three criminals off the street. Now I only have to worry about the other 8.6 million people in this city,” Kevin said sardonically. _

_“Kevin,” sighed Raymond, stepping closer, “this is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”_

_“Oh, come off it, Raymond,” huffed Kevin. He pushed back his chair, stood up and turned to his husband. “I visited you in hospital after you were shot in the line of duty. I have no illusions about the dangers you face every day. I have been thinking about this, wondering what makes this incident so different and I believe I have figured it out. This did not happen on the job. You could have handed these men your wallet and they would have gone about their day, but you didn’t. You got into a fight with them and they stabbed you. They could have killed you. And for what? A few hundred dollars and your credit card? Or was it pride?” Narrowing his eyes, Kevin took a few steps toward Raymond, whose chastised expression told him that he was absolutely right._

_“I always worry,” Kevin continued bitterly, “but I also always thought that even though I didn’t know the people out there, that I did know you and that you would do everything in your power to come home to me in one piece.”_

_Raymond pressed his lips together and glanced down at his feet. Like a student caught cheating on a paper._

_“What am I supposed to think now?” Kevin asked. Nausea was rising from the pit of his stomach again. He’d felt it first when Dan had told them that he hadn’t seen Raymond for a week, then, when his husband had confessed that he had been stabbed, it had returned with a vengeance. The thought of Raymond hurt – of him getting into a fight with three men – it made Kevin’s stomach twist and turn._

_“That I have learned my lesson,” Raymond replied seriously, “I know what I did was stupid and selfish and I am deeply sorry. It will never happen again.”_

_Was it enough to look into his husband’s beautiful dark eyes and see the regret in them, the specks of light in his pupils? Kevin still felt hurt. He took the last steps to close the distance between them and put a hand on Raymond’s chest, over the first button on his jacket. The metal was cold but would soon draw warmth from his palm._

_He felt the comforting rise and fall of his husband’s chest. “The thought of losing you terrifies me,” he confessed, though it was not much of a confession since Raymond had known this for a long time now. Which only made his actions that much more reckless._

_Raymond reached for him, one hand wrapping around the back of his neck, the other settling on his waist, and drew him close._

_“You are not going to lose me, Kevin.”_

_Raymond’s forehead was warm and dry against Kevin’s. He could feel his husband’s skull under the skin – they were both hard-headed, literally and figuratively. _

_Raymond’s hand slid from the back of Kevin’s neck to his chin in one slow caress. _

_Kevin looked into his husband’s eyes. Even after all these years, it was still difficult to not simply melt in them. “You cannot lie to me, Raymond,” he said firmly._

_“I won’t. You were right. What I did was reckless and foolish, and I was angry with myself for acting like a twenty-year-old with nothing to lose when I have everything to lose.” Raymond’s fingers curled around his chin, tipping Kevin’s head up for a kiss. Kevin leaned into the soft pressure of his husband’s lips and closed his eyes. “I love you, Professor Kevin Cozner,” Raymond whispered against his skin. _

_In the shrinking space between them, Kevin’s hand found the police shield badge on Raymond’s chest. He traced it with his fingertips, its sharp edges and worn engravings. Kevin buried his face in the side of Raymond’s neck, kissing the skin there and breathing in his smell. _

_“I love you,” he murmured into the thrum of his husband’s pulse as his fingers moved up, brushing the medals._

_Raymond caught his hand there, in his strong, sure grip._

_He asked, “Will you come to bed with me tonight?”_

_And what could Kevin reply but “Yes.”_

***

When Raymond mentioned the EMTs, Kevin stiffened, his head jerking up from his husband’s shoulder. His heart was beating frantically in his chest; he was not ready for this.

“I’m okay, Raymond, really. I would prefer to go home.” He picked his words and his tone carefully. He tried to remain calm and controlled despite the panic threatening to take over.

“You’re injured. You need to go to the hospital,” Raymond said. He was doing his best to sound reassuring, Kevin could tell.

But there was no room for reason here, in this police van, with the lights flashing around them. Kevin felt like a cornered animal, scared and in pain, and when Raymond changed his strategy, tried to be firm with him, he could do nothing but flee.

His chest tight with anxiety, Kevin climbed out of the van and made his way across the lot. He could hear Raymond following behind him, their footsteps crunching across the gravel in dissonance. Detectives Santiago and Diaz walked into his general direction, their eyes widening when they got close enough to see the state he was in. He nodded at them and corrected his course away from them, vaguely towards one of the ambulances.

The EMTs would be busy with the men inside the building he told himself, though he did not want to think about _them_ or their injuries. Had he really strangled one man and shot another in the chest? It felt unreal. The scenes seemed to him like something he had seen on the screen of the tv set in that house with Peralta, the air around them thick with the cheesy stench of pizza pockets. 

“Sir? Do you need help?”

Kevin blinked at the young man in front of him. He was wearing an EMT uniform and carrying a bag, glancing at the building, then back at Kevin, a frown on his face.

“I’m fine,” Kevin said, but the EMT was shaking his head. He put a hand on Kevin’s arm and steered him to the open ambulance.

“Let’s just sit you down here for a moment. I’ll radio for some more help and then I’ll take a look at you, okay?”

“It’s fine, really.”

Kevin’s faint protests were ignored. He was shaky, he realized, his knees rubbery, but the thought of sitting down made him nauseous. 

After the young man had given some instructions into his crackling radio, he turned to Kevin again.

“I’m Louis, by the way. Can you tell me what happened?”

Kevin shook his head. He did not know where to start.

“Aren’t you an NYPD officer?”

“No, this isn’t my jacket.”

“You scored it off a cop?” Louis winked as he helped Kevin climb into the ambulance and guided him to the stretcher. “Nice.”

Kevin said nothing. He stared at the stretcher.

Louis snapped on a pair of light blue gloves and slipped his hands under the windbreaker, pushing it off Kevin’s shoulders.

“You don’t want to sit,” he said conversationally. “Let’s lie you down then, I’ll help.”

Kevin turned his head to look outside. Two other EMTs were wheeling a stretcher across the lot, one of them holding up an IV bag in one hand. Raymond was several feet away. Boyle and Peralta seemed to have stopped him. They were talking. He could hear another siren getting closer.

“Could we close the doors?” Kevin asked. His stomach was in knots. He did not think he could stand up much longer.

“Sure,” Louis said.

***

When Louis touched the back of Kevin’s thigh, his gloves came away bloody. Kevin lay on his side and closed his eyes.

“I’m going to have to take off your pants, is that okay?”

Kevin nodded, unseeing, unthinking.

_μή_ _ νυν_ _ προσεύχου_ _ μηδέν_ _: ὡς_ _ πεπρωμένης_ _ οὐκ_ _ ἔστι_ _ θνητοῖς_ _ συμφορᾶς_ _ ἀπαλλαγή_ _._


	6. Chapter 6

Raymond was only a few feet behind Kevin when Peralta and Boyle came running across the lot to talk to him.

“The building is clear now. We have two suspects, both of them severely injured. Sarge’s still inside talking to the EMTs,” Boyle rattled off.

“We found a camera,” Peralta added, voice heavy with the implications of this discovery.

Evidence, Raymond told himself, stifling any emotional response. He glanced in the direction Kevin had gone and saw that an EMT had intercepted his husband. Kevin was safe. It was over.

“Peralta, take the lead on this case,” he said. They would have to find proof of Murphy’s involvement and contact the district attorney. Raymond would work on it as well - of course he would - however, due to his personal involvement, he had to stay on the sidelines.

“Sure thing, Captain. Do you need anything else?”

Raymond shook his head. Behind Boyle and Peralta, two EMTs were running past, pushing a stretcher. Raymond averted his gaze, his hands balling into fists, and realized that he had lost sight of Kevin.

“Please excuse me, Detectives,” he said. He turned and, propelled by a wave of terror he did not want to acknowledge, strode toward the ambulance where Kevin had stood moments ago. 

Clearly Kevin was inside, clearly the doors had been shut for privacy. He had been standing upright, walking, talking. His injuries could not be life-threatening. 

Everything was going to be alright.

Still Raymond’s heart was pounding and so was his fist on the cold metal door of the ambulance. It did not open. Instead, an EMT jumped out of the driver’s seat. A furious expression on her face, she covered the distance between them in three long steps and planted herself next to Raymond. 

“Officer, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Captain,” Raymond corrected automatically, fist stilling mid-knock. “My husband is in there.”

She blinked in surprise but stood her ground. “We’re taking him to Brooklyn Methodist, you can follow us in your car, Captain.”

With that she turned on her heel and climbed back into her seat. The door made a hollow sound when she slammed it shut. Raymond remained where he was, even as the engine roared to life and the rotating wheels spit gravel at his shins as the ambulance pulled out of the lot.

***

It took him a few seconds to get his bearings, then Raymond headed back to the van where the squad had assembled. 

“They’ve taken the scumbags to Brooklyn Methodist,” Diaz offered as soon as Raymond was within hearing range. “Couple of uniforms are going there too to make sure they follow protocol.”

“How is Kevin?” Santiago asked, looking up at him, pale and worried.

“They are taking him to Brooklyn Methodist as well.I was thinking of commandeering one of the cruisers to follow.” Which would be a minor infraction of the rules. Kevin being his husband made going to see him at the hospital a private matter, however, he was also the victim-- It was already obvious that his personal involvement was a disrupting factor. Troubled, Raymond set his jaw.

“We’ll take the van back to the precinct and drop you off on the way, sir,” Jeffords said firmly. 

No one pointed out that the hospital was not even close to en route to the precinct.

***

Boyle sat down and made a face. “Eww, what?” He jumped up and wiped at the back of his pants. His fingers came away rust colored. He stared at them in disgust for a second, then lurched forward when Jeffords pulled out of the lot. 

“Charles! Gross!” exclaimed Peralta, scrunching up his face as well.

“No, its--”

“Blood,” Raymond heard himself say. “Kevin sat in that seat earlier.” His stomach clenched at the realization. He had not noticed before.

“Here, let’s just clean it up.” Santiago had found a pack of sanitary wipes and held them out to Boyle. “We’ll be at the hospital in a few minutes, sir,” she told Raymond in an obvious attempt to comfort him.

He nodded, trying not to imagine worst-case scenarios. As far as he was concerned, imagination had never done anyone any good.

***

“Do you want us to come with you? We could hang out, you know, eat terrible vending machine snacks, gossip about the latest hospital gown fashion?” Peralta’s grin as well as his bright attitude were clearly forced. Raymond could not find any appreciation for the desperate attempt at levity. 

“No. I want all of you to go back to the precinct and work the case. Call the Metropolitan Correctional Center again, tell them we want to interrogate Murphy as soon as possible. View the evidence and write a first report for the district attorney’s office. Get to it.” Raymond paused, one hand on the door of the van and reconsidered. “You have done excellent work today,” he added, allowing a hint of emotion to shine through, “and I am incredibly grateful, but this is not over yet.”

“Of course,” Peralta replied, serious now, “if you or Kevin need anything…”

He trailed off and Raymond nodded because he knew - had known for years now - that for the first time in his life he had a squad he could fall back on.

***

At the hospital’s information desk he was told to wait. This much he had expected. After he had taken a seat in the depressing waiting area, Raymond glanced at his watch. Half past noon. Far earlier in the day than he would have estimated. During their frantic search for Kevin, he had lost all sense of time. 

Now adrenaline was still coursing through his system but his pounding heart was slowing as he settled in the uncomfortable chair and, to distract himself from worrying about his husband, looked around the waiting area. 

An elderly black man was sitting opposite him, right hand wrapped in a dark red cloth and cradled in his left. He glanced up at Raymond and cocked one grey eyebrow when their eyes met, reminding Raymond that yes, he was still in uniform, though he had left his bulletproof vest in the van. 

To the man’s right were two teenagers, white, a boy with unkempt brown hair and a girl, blonde, with a bright pink streak in her bangs. Both of them were hunched over their phones, eyes never leaving the screens. An older white woman walked past Raymond, her hips sashaying all the way past a row of empty chairs to the one seat furthest from everyone else. Raymond could not blame her. 

He looked down at his shoes and drew a deep breath.

Kevin was alive.

As far as he knew.

No, he was.

He most certainly was.

***

Time passed.

Raymond did glance at his watch once or twice, then had to stop himself when the urge to do it a third time threatened to overwhelm him. The man opposite him was led away by a nurse in pink scrubs. After a while his seat was taken by a woman in her thirties who sat with her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach. 

Raymond looked over at the information desk where the nurse on duty sat with the phone receiver wedged between ear and shoulder, while her fingers tapped on the keyboard in front of her. He was sure she had forgotten about him. 

He waited for her to hang up the phone.

As soon as she did, he rose and walked over again.

“Excuse me,” he said, “do you have any new information regarding Professor Kevin Cozner? He was admitted seventy-two minutes ago.” 

She gave him a blank look, as though she was seeing him for the first time.

“The assault victim brought in via ambulance earlier. I am still waiting for an update on his condition,” he tried. 

This had no visible effect on her, but one of the doctors passing by stopped in his tracks. He approached quickly, narrowing his eyes at Raymond. 

“The rape?” he asked, seeming offended. Voice low and urgent, he continued before Raymond could get a word in edgewise, “I understand that you need a statement, Captain, but this is too early. The man is traumatized--”

“No,” Raymond interrupted gently, holding up one hand, “this is a misunderstanding. I am talking about my husband, Kevin Cozner. I merely want to see him. I’m not here to investigate any--” He stopped himself when he registered the change in the doctor’s expression, outrage and defensiveness had melted away, his eyebrows rising in surprise as something dawned on him, then his gaze softened with pity.

Like a searing blade the memory of Kevin flinching as he sat down sliced into Raymond’s gut. The blood on Boyle’s fingers.

“Oh,” he said haltingly, “oh. I see. We are talking about the same person. My husband. Who was…” He tried to swallow his horror and failed. “...raped.”

The doctor winced.His gaze flicked away as though he was looking for an escape route. “I’m sorry. Look, you’ll be able to see him in a few minutes when he has been transferred to a room.”

Raymond nodded, his mind blank. “Thank you,” he said. He walked back to his chair and sat down. 

***

_ “Then we will see each other in approximately four weeks,” Raymond said. _

_ “Yes, I suppose so,” Kevin replied. He sounded resigned but not heartbroken, Raymond thought. This observation caused a pang of disappointment, which he suppressed immediately. _

_ “Good luck with your case, Raymond,” Kevin added, “I hope it goes well.” _

_ “Thank you. I’m sure your symposium will be a success.” _

_ “Thank you. I certainly hope so.” _

_ “You’re welcome. I will call you as soon as I’m free again.” That was nice and vague Raymond thought, proud of himself for the restraint he was showing. The truth was, he wanted to call Kevin every day - no, the actual truth was, he did not even want to hang up now. He wanted to stay on the phone with this man forever. It was ridiculous. _

_ “I’m looking forward to it.” Did he sound sad now? Disappointed? Raymond could not tell. Kevin had been subdued for the entirety of the call as he had been forced to cancel his weekend visit to the city, to Raymond, because of some family obligation that had come up. Then they had realized that, over the course of the next month, neither of them had the time to make the lengthy commute to see the other. Kevin had to work on a paper, finish a translation and prepare a symposium, while Raymond was lead investigator on a major case and had to prepare for two days in court, plus take part in a mandatory training drill. _

_ For the past three months, since the night they had met for drinks after the interview, Raymond had seen Kevin every weekend. They went to restaurants and concerts, to the theatre, to museums and art galleries. They’d held hands on their second date, furtively after nightfall, letting go of each other reluctantly whenever they felt the gaze of another pedestrian linger. Raymond’s fingers, however, would search Kevin’s again soon after, if only to brush the back of his hand, a kind of magnetism between them, inescapable like the pull of gravity. _

_ “Goodbye, Raymond,” Kevin said. _

_ “Goodbye,” Raymond echoed. For a second, he could hear Kevin breathe over the line and pictured the rise and fall of his chest under the fabric of his shirt. Raymond imagined putting his hand over Kevin’s heartbeat, feeling his warmth. _

_ Finally, there was a click. Kevin had hung up the phone. _

_ Raymond sighed and hung up as well. _

_ “If one of us had a car, the commute would not be that much of a problem,” Kevin had remarked at one point during their conversation. _

_ The point was moot, as neither of them had a car and Raymond’s income did not allow spontaneous car purchases. Neither, he guessed, did Kevin’s. _

_ And yet. _

_ The drive would take only between thirty minutes and forty minutes, depending on traffic. It would enable him to drive up to Kevin every night after his shift if he so desired. Raymond could not help but imagine such a night, a weeknight, and him knocking on the door to Kevin’s small apartment and Kevin opening. _

_ Or Kevin simply being here, at Raymond’s place when he returned home. Eating dinner together every night. Sleeping in the same bed every night. Waking up next to Kevin every morning. _

_ Worth the price of a hundred cars, Raymond caught himself thinking. _

_ No. _

_ He needed to think with his brain, not with certain lower parts. _

_ They had known each other only for three months. Twelve weeks. And of these, they had only spent the weekends together. Yes, there had been numerous phone conversations between their dates, but those hardly counted. _

_ Raymond did not like this. He did not enjoy this one bit. ‘This’ being the moments after hanging up the phone, the moments after watching Kevin board the train or after boarding the train himself, watching Kevin shrink into the distance through a dirty window. _

_ Kevin’s presence was pure joy, his absence undiluted misery. _

_ This was bad. _

_ Raymond had certain criteria he looked for in potential partners. He had had a number of what he deemed mostly successful relationships with men who had met those criteria. His relationships had been pleasant and comfortable, they had taken up exactly as much space in his life as he allotted to them. Yes, there had been infatuations, yes, there had been lust, but these wore off after a time and Raymond had never allowed himself to let them rule over him and cloud his judgment to the point where he would rush into something with someone. _

_ Raymond Holt was in control of himself. Always. _

_ Or was he? _

_ Thoughts of Kevin invaded his mind at all times. He might be at the precinct, he might be on a crime scene… A mere sixteen days ago he had been looking at a picture of a victim, a young white male, stabbed to death during a robbery and it had hit him, suddenly and with breathtaking force: this could happen to Kevin. For a few seconds he had barely been able to breathe. He had leaned back in his chair, wiped a hand across his face and closed his eyes. During his break, he had gone down to the phone booth in front of the precinct and called Kevin, just to hear his voice. _

_ Early on, Raymond had thought this infatuation would lose some of its urgency after they had slept together a few times, as that had been his experience with previous relationships. _

_ So far, it had not. _

_ What sleeping with Kevin had done instead was provide him with a catalogue of memories that kept him awake at night alone in his bed and aching for Kevin’s slender fingers caressing his back, for Kevin’s heels pressing into his calves, for Kevin’s hot breath flowing into the whorls of his ear. _

_ Two weeks ago, Kevin had invited Raymond to a small art gallery where a childhood friend of his was having an exhibition, and for the first time in his life Raymond had experienced a new kind of jealousy. It had not been the irritation, wounded pride and paranoia seeing Frederick with Dave had awoken, instead a quiet despair had filled the chambers of his heart. It had been ridiculous since there was obviously nothing sexual between Kevin and that woman, Margo, whose girlfriend had been there as well, and yet Raymond had thought of the years Kevin and this person had shared, had observed the easy camaraderie between them and simply plunged into a sadness born from envy. They had had so much time together. Raymond wanted that time with Kevin; Margo, who he decided then and there was a simpleton, did not deserve that time. _

_ This would not do. _

_ Raymond was starting to become unhinged, his emotions running amok. _

_ Perhaps some distance would do him good. _

_ Whatever happened, he would not allow himself to go and buy a car. He could not let Kevin see how much he affected Raymond. It was too early to invest that much into what might only be a brief affair, what, in a couple of years, might only be a distant memory. _

_***_

Startled out of his daze, Raymond flinched when a hand touched his shoulder.

"Sir," the nurse in the pink scrubs said gently, "you can go see your husband now."


End file.
